SOAPBOX SATURDAY

everythingyouneversay

[soapboxsaturday]

being happy

[soapboxsaturday]

This has a happy ending.

A lot of times I see tweets that say, “If I never meet _______ I will never know happiness.” You’re thinking that all the work you’ve done for _____ goes to waste if you can’t look them in the eye and thank them. You want to tell them you’ve dedicated yourself to their dream because it was the only legitimate exchange for the fact that they’ve saved your life. It’s logical that you’d want to meet them. Or even get their Twitter follow. But I swear there are other ways to happy.

There are silly, stupid ways to happy: Chocolate chip cookies, The Mindy Project, people-watching at concerts, long drives to nowhere. There are also big-deal happy things to look forward to: Falling in love with the hottest, *plot twist* nicest, tallest, most abtastic guy in the entire world... OR of course an equally awesome, adorable, charming geek. OR maybe even the most beautiful, intelligent, hard-to-get girl that you… get.

This might sound lame, but who knows… You might write the best book series since Harry Potter. Or sell out Madison Square Garden. Or play for the NBA. Or open the most chic, boho, cutesy coffee shop on the West Coast. Or invent some type of inventy thing (idk you think of it.) Or be a heavenly teacher who doesn’t assign 81 hours of homework per night. These are all legitimate reasons for happy.

Maybe you’ve been saving your money for traveling the world: LA, Rome, Paris, Manhattan, Hawaii…. Or saving your money for a drop-dead, original, meaningful tattoo… Or for Christmas lights to hang in your room. Or for new music. Or simply saving your money *period*. More reasons for happy.

I have a weird perspective on this fangirl thing because I sort of grew up with friends who occasionally pop up on TV or casually perform for thousands each night. But there are bands that have changed my life. Icons I’d like to meet just so I could frantically list every amazing thing about them, and every inspirational moment they’ve sparked, and poke fun at their nonsensical tweets, and have inside jokes together. But I don’t dwell on these thoughts. I buy cheap concert tickets.

One time my friend flew out to New York to visit me. She was rambling on and on about her favorite singer. There was an extremely frightening moment where she dramatically fell to the floor while she told me she’d given up listening to his music for a whole month since her obsession had gotten out of hand and then BOOM he was on SNL and she hadn’t expected it and his hair was so…. and his voice was so… and his jeans were so tiiiiiight and blah blah blaaah……The next day we were in an unusual part of the city. She pointed out a café a few blocks down and we headed in that direction for lunch. The pedestrian signal blinked, warning us to cross the street in the next few seconds. I turned around, yelling, “Come onnnn, what are you doing?!” And right behind me, she stood (more like “danced”) in complete awe as her favorite singer (yes, that one) introduced himself... True story.    

[soapboxsaturday]

[soapboxsaturday]

uNfOrTuNaTeLy relatable

So you say your heart is broken.

So you say you’ve given up.

Do you know what lonely is?

Have you gone to a movie alone? Not by choice, but because there was no choice?

So you say there aren’t enough hours in the day.

Maybe there are too many hours in the day. Ever thought about that?

Maybe we’re just incessantly overwhelmed + that’s why we p r o c r a s t i n a t e.

For every nap you take, there’s a memory to be made. Aw.

______________________________________________________________ 

Maybe you lost the girl.

Maybe you lost your mind.

So you say you care.

Does she know?

    Does he know?

Can you fix it?

    Will you fix it?

So you say they tell you how to dress, how to wear your hair, how to be.

“No one understands.”

    “Everyone’s the same.”

“I wanna be different.”

    “I wanna fit in.”  

______________________________________________________________ 

//I love him but he’s not cute//I love her but she’s too much//I like my best friend//A lot//He never texts me first//She cheated//School is destroying me//I’m depressed//I like boys//I like girls//I have no talents//College//My parents never listen//Tumblr girls are so… I’m so…//I’ve never had a relationship//I’m scared//

______________________________________________________________ 

So where do we go from here?

Yes, we.

We’re all just terrified kids walking through rainbows,

pretending life is black + white:

Obsessing over knowing the answer.

Falling madly in love.

Dreading some type of something.

Feeling too many emotions at once.

Breaking down over the mere thought of work.

Making embarrassing first impressions.

Regretting every single school picture.

______________________________________________________________ 

So I say you get over it. 

//Text him first//laugh at your own jokes//tell her you love her//save your money for music//get inspired//cry about it//care about it//dance//get your dream job//do your homework//LISTEN when someone else is talking//stop living for others//worry 50% less//smile like a slap-happy idiot//

It’s okay to be scared.

______________________________________________________________ 

You’re strong enough. No matter how broken you feel.

You’re whole. You’re still you. Just a little less sparkly.

So I say no more excuses.

______________________________________________________________ 

[soapboxsaturday]

[soapboxsaturday]

The Math of Life, Leonardo DiCaprio, and other bizarre topics.

There are days when you just want to sit around, drink coffee, and wear red high heels. Or maybe watch back-to-back Audrey Hepburn films while eating chocolate chip waffles. Or perhaps become a professional ballerina, dancing as the sun sets in a penthouse in Milan. (If you’re a guy, feel free to add your ideal situation to the list because clearly, I’m clueless.)

Now here’s a complementary round of applause if you’ve ever achieved such feats. 

It’s highly likely, however, that you’re procrastinating finishing your Psych homework (like me), or waiting for your piano lesson to start, or in the passenger seat as your mom lectures you about brushing your hair for the thousandth time, or on lunch break at your 9-5… which are all unfortunately a bit less glamorous.

BUT YOU’RE IN LUCK because this week I learned a really cool thing. 

I’ll start by vaguely pointing out something that happened last weekend that sort of made my heart go kerplunk, and my mind get all jumbled into a hole of confusion (sorta like what happens when restaurants mistakenly put Wasabi instead of avocado in your sushi), and suddenly I was listening to “FU” by Miley Cyrus on level 10 insanity repeat volume while I was supposed to be… hold up.

Anyway, simultaneous to my bout of crazy, I had some huge meetings with huge people. Not huge like that, huge like that, no… like that. Okay, now we’re on the same page. So in this whirlwind of broken emotion and opportunistic business, my suitcase was declared lost, my phone got erased, Mother Nature said hey, and I tripped and fell in front of Leonardo DiCaprio. At that precise moment (face planted on the sidewalk in front of Leo), I realized that humans have pretty atrocious timing when it comes to 99.9% of life. 

BUT HANG ON A SECOND.

During those previously mentioned meetings… more specifically, music meetings. (The kind where I’m supposed to backup the whole “songwriting prodigy” thing with 22+ mind-blowing hooks paired with hundreds of mindboggling lyrics.) You might be thinking, “Oh oKaY, no pressure or anything,” but honestly, I love it.

Music meetings, music auditions, music anYtHing, is that .1% of life where my timing is right on. Songwriting is like breathing to me. I don’t remember starting, I don’t remember writing half of the thousands of songs that reside in my catalogue, and I can’t fathom the thought of breaking a jerk’s heart and not being able to brag about it in a song...

So the point in this little rant about my sucky week turned “YAY MUSIC” is that all of us have that .1% of life where our timing is PERFECT. Whether your heart is broken, or your first hour PE class keeps you awake at night, or curfew snuck up on you aGain… your .1% will never let you down.

Maybe you’re not destined for Hollywood, or destined for Harvard. Maybe yours is a talent that society glorifies, or maybe it’s overlooked. But that doesn’t give you or anyone else the right to give up on you or let you settle for defeat.

Now since it seems that I’ve assumed the role of “life coach” in these last few paragraphs, your responsibility (I refuse to use the word homework) is to put on your absolute favorite piece of clothing (think, feather boa), listen to your favorite band on full blast, and make a list of all the things that you’re fantastic at. This way whenever you’re feeling *like a plastic bag drifting through the wind waiting to start again* you can just focus on your endowments (fancy word for “stuff you’re really good at” because we’re fancy kids over here.)

P.S. If your list is super short, that’s nothing to worry about. Mine consists of one thing… music. 

[soapboxsaturday]

The truth about Hollywood....

My favorite song is blank. My favorite color is blank. My favorite movie is blank.

Think about your favorite celebrity and those previous three statements. You can probably fill in each blank for them. This is strange to me. We see somebody’s YouTube videos, fall in love with their role on TV, walk by their album at Target, and think, “Ooo they’re cute, I’m gonna Google them.”

I do it, you do it, don’t deny it.

After that initial Google search, you can usually tell where the relationship is headed. OMG THEY’RE SO FUNNY LET’S WATCH ALL THEIR VIDEOS. *CALLS BEST FRIEND* or the other extreme.

What confuses me most is the persona that this contagious type of celebrity exudes. Somehow their hair color, body type, and horoscope sign becomes the basis of their audience’s perception of life. In other words, his favorite color is green, so is mine. If he changes it, I’ll be heartbroken.

Last week I met one of Hollywood’s “angels.” Her persona? Adorable. So adorable in fact that it cancels out any strange occurrences: rapid break ups, outrageous black leather ensembles, questionable rumors. The bizarre disproportion of her body to her head means nothing to the parent’s of little girls because her Instagram is decorated in pink ruffles. (Figuratively, of course. Although, that would be cool…..) Needless to say, I was pretty stoked to finally meet this sweetheart. My friends who know her laughed at me, saying they just don’t get the craze.

To make a long story short, to put it sweetly... she was not nice. At all.

That’s when it hit me. It’s not the performances, the songs, or the talent that her fans are addicted to. But rather the idea of them. The idea of her. She appears to have everything you’ve ever wanted. Ever ever ever. But it’s a completely contrived image.

Thus I’ve decided to take the liberty in saying that all of you have that much. That much beauty, talent, benevolence. That many friends and admirers. Don’t ever let a celebrity make you feel lesser. Ever. Celebrities are 90% make-up anyhow….

Just as you have a different personality when you’re around your parents as opposed to your friends, imagine the attitude you’d have in front of millions of eyes, thousands of cameras, and hundreds of sheer icons.

SO here’s what I hope. I hope you smile with all your teeth even if your idol doesn’t. I hope you wear purple even if your idol hates it. I hope you eat strawberries even if your idol is allergic. I hope you dress how you want, dance how you want, love who want. I hope you never glamorize depression simply because your idol has withstood it. I hope you experience the most radically insane love and the most heart-wrenching break up and the most soul-achingly inspirational album and draw life lessons from the classics… animate your own life. Draw from your own life lessons. Make memories that you’ll tell your grandchildren when their parents aren’t around… I also hope you travel to Hollyweird and see how not so fantabulous it is.

I realize that this is a lot to take in. You’re probably still trying to figure out whom I was referring to in the middle paragraphs. No, not her. Or her. Or her…. But I’d like you to look past this and realize that though many celebrities aren’t who you think they are, they’re probably not all that bad. Let go of the details and the grey area and the time elapsed between Tweets. After all, even the air is phony in Hollywood.

With that I dare you to go do that thing that you were thinking you’d do but you never did because you thought or didn’t think or overthought that maybe possibly probably….  yeah, do that.

[soapboxsaturday]

All highschool ever taught me is how much I hate school..

Mom says I should start a blog. She also hates when I wear yoga pants, don’t brush my hair, leave the house after 10pm, laugh at Vines of people running into walls / falling out windows, paint my nails black…. My response, “Ew.”

I spent the last 8 years going to a College Preparatory School. The kind where students start taking the ACT in 7th Grade. Parents voluntarily do drugs with their children. Everyone manages to soar right into prestigious university, without completing a single homework assignment. Just picture the suburban version of “Gossip Girl” if that’s even possible. I was the Dan Humphrey of the scenario… as I lived 45 minutes away from the school and didn’t identify with the “I couldn’t figure out Trig last night, so my dad did it for me”. My dad barely finished high school??? Needless to say, I didn’t “enjoy” it (Mom says I can’t use the word “hate”). I’m not writing this to burn bridges; I’m just being brutally honest. Since graduating, that’s one of my fortes, I guess: brutal honesty. Whoop.

I visited this school for the very first time in the 4th grade. My name was spelled wrong, pronounced wrong, I was forced to write an essay, take the Physical Fitness Test, and sit next to a boy who reeked of Bologna. It wasn’t my thing. I cried the entire drive home. I also cried every drive home after that from 5th through 8th grade. Blah blah blah depressing. Poor you. Staaahppp complaining. No one likes school. Who cayyyy-uuurs?

ME. RIGHT HERE. HELLO HI. I CARE.

Anyway, my years at this school taught me survival mode to a bizarre extreme. I realized that if I didn’t “do” anything, I’d get away with everything. I turned on the ultimate nice girl charade. Looking back at my 11 year-old self, it was quite brilliant. Where’s my Oscar? But this fabrication of Little Miss Perfect was a little bit impossible. It led to deep, dark, depressing times…. (dramatic voice). By senior year, my lies were catching up to me. People said things like, “Remember when you were Taylor Swift for Halloween?” And I would stare at them thinking, “Seriously?” They obviously mistook my outside of school persona as a Halloween costume. Or had they? Maybe I just didn’t remember? Things continued in this manner. People would say remember... Can you believe you told so and so... Oh my God, you’re so lucky you got to…

I remembered none of it. I still don’t remember any of it. From the time I walked the halls on my first day of 5th grade until Fake Prom senior year, I can only list names.

My senior trip was Rome. Yes, I’m serious. We weren’t allowed to phone home or have any connections to anyone outside of the 10 kids on the trip. This was where my breakdown began. I had no place to escape and “recharge” Little Miss Sunshine. As someone completely numb to any sort of emotion, I was shocked to find myself crying during bathroom breaks, hyperventilating walking down the street. Ugh teenage drama. My, oh my. You think I’m kidding… reading over this draft I think I’m ridiculous. But don’t the realest of emotions, greatest of ideas seem downright crazy?

Some choice memories from this grand institution:

1)  A voice screeches into a microphone: “What is wrong with you children? Sit down, shut up! It’s not like you’re public school kids!” HUH?

2) A teacher sighs dramatically staring at her Dell Computer, “As I was saying my prayers last night, it came to my attention that you 3 are a complete disgrace to everything this school stands for.” (Her response to the 6th grade student council proposing a school dance.)

The next few items are “you had to be theres” except the kind where I wish I hadn’t been there… either way, my list ends at 2.  

“Whyyyyy are you writing this?” you whine. Despite my satiric tone throughout this blog, I’m pretty un-humorous. I survived the last 8 years, so I tell relatives, “My time at that school made me who I am” aghhhh. But what I really believe is that if I’d never gone in the first place, I would’ve skipped the depressed, anxiety-ridden, skeletal blur and made some memories. Watching TV shows about high school still freaks me out because I feel bad about all the things I missed while struggling to turn off my alarm in the morning. I’m writing this in hopes for the kids who put on a face each day simply to spare the questions, glares, and other unnecessary nonsense. When you make it through, (I’m telling you here and now no matter how much it hurts you HAVE to make it through), you’ll feel like a magical unicorn. Note: You could morph into a magical unicorn the summer after graduation and no one in your class would even know… Trust me 3000% when I say, you never ever have to see these people ever again.

So just keep smiling that contrived smile (even if it’s as a fake as an orange-elbowed spray tan). But try to live a little. I don’t want you watching The Breakfast Club and wishing on every 11:11 that you could go back in time and get a detention. Tell Austin Ames you’re in love with him, go to the movies by yourself, read novels despite the cool kids’ stares, eat Taco Bell Breakfast, stay up all night, text him (omg), go to a party (a party, party.. you know, that kind of party.. thaaaaat kind) just to make fun of everyone. Also, make wise choices; I don’t wanna get in trouble for writing this.. it was my mom’s idea after all..

Now this is slightly awkward. Not for me, for the person from my school who’s reading this. Whoever you are, I realize you’ll never tell me you read this. Just like you never told me you thought it was cool when you saw me on TV. Or that you liked my dress at Christmas Dance. But you didn’t invite me to be in your Christmas Dance Group so… it’s cool, I’m over it. And I probably love you anyway.

            Growing up’s weird because if you’re afraid to be yourself around your classmates, shouldn’t you also be scared to know who they really are? Maybe they’re not betraying you or going behind your back, they’re just being their true selves. So I suppose that’s what I’m doing. This isn’t intentionally directed at anyone or even at my old school, to be honest. Just talkin’ ‘bout experience.. hopin’ ta help ya kidz.

Que music: *This is real, this is me, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be*