Thursday, December 31, 2009

Vibes and New Year's Missions

I don't want you guys to get the wrong vibe about my friend JM: She's one of my best friends EVER and we never put each other down. I feel that in my post "Earth to People This is Peer Pressure" I didn't express JM truly. She's one of the nicest, funniest and most honest person I know. I'm lucky she's my friend. :)

Yesterday my family and I watched that fabulous movie, Julie and Julia. (or Julia and Julie?) As some of you may know, it's about a woman (Julie) who loves to cook and write, so she starts a blog with a mission: To cook through Julia Child's first ever cook book in a year. The movie also follows Julia Child's life as she tries to get that very-same cookbook published.

I can sort of relate to that. I blog. But that's about it.

So maybe I should start a mission like that. Maybe I'll add a chapter to a story everyday, like my brother is planning on doing. But then I'll have 365 chapters.

Maybe I'll take a picture everyday and put it on the blog. That doesn't sound bad! But will I have time for that? Probably not.

But whatever it is, it has to be about Middle School. That's what I'm writing about.

It's going to take me a while to figure this out.

Happy New Year's Eve!

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Attack of the Clones!!! (Sorry Star Wars lovers, not the same)

So my grandma just tried to type in my blog address into the little address bar at the top of the Internet box, right? She typed in http://www.girlinthe/... bla bla bla. And guess what? There is another girl in the purple pants out there, besides me!

She hasn't blogged since May so I guess she's not that avid at it. There were only two posts. But Gosh, everyday the Internet startles me. There's enough people in the world who would all care to start a blog named The Girl in the Purple Pants? And just the slight matter of the word the in the address completely changes what page the Internet is going to bring up? My address starts with the word the and not girl. I'm going to try other addresses to see if there are other Purple Pants out there. (Just because I'm green with envy and red with fury.)

It's all mind- boggling, really.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Earth To People, This Is Peer-Pressure!

Middle School is a rough place, people.

It's funny that I'm thinking about this now, in the middle of winter break. And for me, winter break is a vacation from thinking about school. I truly need that.

The only reason I was thinking about school is because I'm in the middle of a mid-sport crisis. You can call me a tennis player, because it's the sport I'm actually good at, but do I really like this sport? So I've been thinking about trying fencing also. You know, sword fighting.

When I first schemed this I told one of my closest friends, JM. She said that fencing is lame and stuff like that. If I were to switch my winter sport from basketball to fencing at my school, it would mean that we wouldn't be together for sports. (FYI she is a basketball star.) So she didn't want me to switch to fencing if that meant I couldn't do basketball with her.

I asked around and most of my girlfriends said the same thing about fencing. "Do you really wanna wear all that white Spandex?" was a typical response.

And that got me thinking: It's not really my girlfriends' beeswax about what sport I should choose. Yeah, they can suggest, but they shouldn't say my choice is lame.

Maybe they're trying to save my social life from going down the drain with this "lame" sport. Or maybe they just want me to hang out with them in boring, jam-packed basketball.

So earth to all you adults out there, this is an example of peer-pressure. I'm not one of those teachers who lecture you in a baby voice "Peer- pressure is bad! No-no pressure!" or anything. But peer-pressure proves that almost no personal decision made in middle school is personal.

It really makes you wonder. Yeah, Stacey might have told Jill that her haircut was ugly, but did Stacey want to tell Jill that? Maybe it was Barbie's fault for pressuring Stacey to tell Jill because Barbie told Stacey that it was the "cool" thing to do... and on and on and on.

I'm going to try to refrain from bringing Barbie into this feud, though.

People tell middle school-ers to not be led into being pressured. To ignore the pressure-er and get an adult IMMEDIATELY. (Sure...) But it's not that easy.

Like me right now. I don't know if I should do fencing or not. I trust my girlfriends' opinions, but I also want to try something that I think I may like. Will I really look like a loser? My girlfriends aren't telling me to do something; they're doing the opposite. They're stopping me from doing something.

How many people in middle school could possibly be sitting at the lunch table they want to? Or choose the sport they like? Their club? Their locker? Their language? Even personal decisions may be misguided by a untrue reputation.

Does calling something lame make it lame? Or is it an excuse to stop somebody from doing something they may like?

Monday, December 28, 2009

The Wonderful World of Bloggers Reaches The New York Times!!


Yes, here in same-old, same-old Connecticut, we had a magical White Christmas. With real snow that makes you dig out your old, horribly ugly snow boots from the basement. (I refused to wear them, though.)

Christmas. Ahhhhh... I don't want to get into the whole Silver Bells, Winter Wonderland moment because I'll be tragically sad some more that the whole thing is over. *Sigh*....

So, in the meanwhile, I have been in New Jersey visiting my other grandmother and watching live Revolutionary War reenactments in Trenton. (Which pictures and videos from I will add once I get off my lazy bum and upload the stuff from my camera. Too much work, sorry.)

You see, I would have been blogging and such, since I do have a lime-colored laptop which works perfectly fine and is portable. But I'm not too much of a computer genius to figure out how to connect this little-technical thing to the beloved Internet. So, sorry to my 6 followers for being lonesome for my critical literature. (Yeah... not.)

But recently I have been amazed by the affect blogging has on the world. I just read a stimulating article in the New York Time's Sunday Styles (which between you and me, is my FAV-OR-IT section of the paper) about how fashion bloggers have been seated in the front row of runway shows. (They were even seated close to ANNA WINTOUR for the Lord's sake!!! ANNA WINTOUR!!!!)

I love being a part of this whole blogging moment. It feels like a revolution- people like you and me getting their thoughts published, which otherwise wouldn't have been published, out for the world to read. I am a huge fan of magazine and newspapers, in other terms written work that you can hold, but blogging is another wonderful outlet for aspiring writers. It's a powerful force that has a new influence over fashion and entertainment, even politics, too! But most importantly, it's the people's perspective. Not just Allure's or Vogue's; everybody gets a chance to join the discussion. (Internet access required. Accessories sold separately.)

It's a really good article. It's funny, because I have been thinking the same thing about blogging. You know Tavi (who's last name I can't spell on the spot, but it starts with a Gev--... sorry, Tavi) from the sensational blog, Style Rookie? Well, she was in the article and I was jumping up and down because I HEARD ABOUT HER and READ HER BLOG! I don't know why, but little connections like that make me feel smart. :)

Anyway, here's the link to the article. If I were you, instead of reading this online, go and buy the paper and save my beloved newspaper from anything close to bankruptcy. Ok, The New York Times couldn't go bankrupt... right?

Just buy the paper.

(P.S.- I used the word "beloved" TWO TIMES in this post!!! My vocab is expanding!!!! [I don't know why this is in italics- ask my computer])

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Merry Christmas!! (Eve)

Gosh... it is an absolute blogging UNIVERSE out there!!

Anyway, do you remember in my post, Latin Laughing-Disorders I wrote that I had a crazy, crazy family? Let the truth speak for itself.

Most of my family came over my house for Christmas Eve-Eve pizza dinner. My grandparents (Siti and my grandpa) flew up from their winter house in Florida on Tuesday to spend Christmas with us. So all together, everyone at my house was:
  1. me
  2. my little brother ( I inspired him to start one. :)
  3. my mom
  4. my dad
  5. Siti
  6. grandpa
  7. Aunt D
  8. Uncle S
  9. cousin S (girl, 6th grader i inspired her!!
  10. cousin M (girl, 5th grader I inspired her, too :)
  11. cousin E (girl, kindergarten)
I have more relatives on that side of the family too, a ton more in fact, but they don't live in the state. In one night we managed to:
  • Write a horrible movie script. (movie making is our thing. I edited and direct them, while I force everyone else to wear ugly costumes and act. It's nice being the director :))
  • Eat enough pizza and cookies to give us all each a quadruple chin.
  • Start M's blog.
  • Break S's braces so the whole left side ripped out of her mouth and clung on to her cheek.
  • Play the easiest card game in the world for at least and hour and a half. We're probably the only family in Connecticut that can play a card game for that long. Without anybody quiting to go watch Batman. Ok, that was an understatement. We did lose some players. But they returned. (The Batman marathon ended, I think.)
  • Lost M's jacket and found it fifteen minutes later.
But the best part of the night, by far, was when my cousin M refused to film the movie with my cousins and I so she could read every single one of my posts. And she was absolutely AMAZED that all of that stuff happened to me.
She said, "Whoa, you really just grabbed him and asked him out?!?!?!" (referring to my first ever post.)
I nodded with a proud look on my face. "Yep, that's me."
"And you really had to carry that bloody head??!!!??"
"Ci" I said.
I can't express to you how good I felt then. I don't think anybody besides my parents have read every single post. But M didn't have to read everyone; she wanted to. And she liked it!! It doesn't matter that I'm two years older than her; two years, shoe shears. The editor the the Boca Viewpointe must have liked my first post too, I guess. Because she's putting it in her newspaper! Ahhhhhhh, I'm so happy.
And of course, it's Christmas Eve!! I'm so excited. Christmas is my favorite holiday by far, even though I haven't finished wrapping my presents for people... I absolutely love wrapping presents though... ahhh.... with the ribbons, and the paper... and the stickers! I love the stickers with the little "to" and "from".... ahhh.... Ok, end of discussion.
I have to go finish wrapping.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

BJ's... a wholesale shopping paradise.

BJ's (you know, the giant football field x10 wholesale stores?) was an absolute MADHOUSE yesterday. CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY!!!!! Under my duty as shopping-cart-driver, I managed to:
  • Swerved to avoid collisions with old ladies. Twice.
  • Drove into the Cheese Island while the lady giving out free samples laughed at me.
  • Crashed my cart into another, full cart.
  • Finagled a Nascar-worthy left turn into the jarred-foods aisle.
I just can't resist standing on the cart and pushing it. You know, the underneath of the cart that's meant to hold the really heavy things like multiple boxes of Pamper's? Just get a running start while pushing the cart, and jump on to it. It's really a lot of fun. Just ignore the stares. Pretend you're not older than eight and you'll be fine.
The only problem is that I have these really long, thin, scrawny arms with zero muscle; only flab that hangs on the top half of my arms and jiggles. So it's a serious problem for me when the cart gets full and weighs as much as a drawf-ish pony.
Oh yeah, my reflexes stink too. That's why I crash into things a lot. I'm not cut out for professional shopping cart driving.
It's a jungle out there, in BJ's, during the week of Christmas. Be careful. Oh yeah, and Merry Christmas!

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Snow and "Perfect Matches" bla bla bla...

Ok, I guess I was wrong about this "blizzard". I took this picture as soon as I woke up. The weird webbing is the window screen.

... And here's the setting sun. It was prettier in real life; like somebody spilled their pomegranate and orange juice combination into the sky. It looked like melted gold. Ughh, my brain is so slow right now, I don't have any good descriptions. The only thing my DSL version-self can tell you is that it was seriously beautiful.

One of my best friends, (Jos from here on out, because she's going to be in this blog a lot, 'cause we're always hanging out) recently got a boyfriend. He's this guy that she knew from kindergarten and they liked each other in kindergarten and first grade and so on and so on... He's in all of my classes at school. I didn't really know him before this year, because he was in another home room last year. But I know him now and he's really nice.

As happy as I am for Jos, (and that's really, really happy) when we were texting this morning I couldn't help thinking that I'll never find a boy that that I like who likes me back. Sigh... but then I remembered all of my other friends are at the same spot as I am (and that's square one) and I felt better again. Girls don't always need boys to make them happy. Life is so much better then that.

Annnnnd, my favorite inspirational song on that subject is Fifteen by Taylor Swift. I cannot get one line out of my head from that song- second chorus, when she goes "'Cause you'll do better things then dating the boy on the football team; I didn't know it at fifteen" or something like that.

Gosh, Taylor is amazing. She completely and utterly embodied every girl who has ever gone through a heartbreak or what not in that one song. That's what I try to do in writing. (Because me and a guitar is a pretty toxic combination.)

A lot of people (including moi) dream of finding the "perfect partner" tomorrow. Like I pretend that the boy-of-my-dreams-from-Italy will walk into Latin class and call me bella. (That's beautiful in Italian, right?) But the thing is, that's not going to happen, and those imaginations ruin the fun out of when you actually find that person, which you will, because you'll be thinking about how "in my dreams he already had the flowers and they were in my favorite color, not blue!" and what not.

It is fun to dream about the perfect-match though. But after you wake up all depressed, you have to remember he is going to come soon enough, just slow down and smell the roses. I love that phrase.

And because I'm just filled to the brim with inspirational-feel-good songs today, I'm going to also mention one of my favorites that is a classic. And relates to the post. Somebody to Watch Over Me is one of my all time favorite songs. I like the Frank Sinatra version and the Renee Olstead one.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Matilda's Makeover



All day, the Weather Channel has reported (while constantly playing Charlie Brown's theme song, which I liked :)) that we're getting theeee blizzard of the year right now. I've seen pictures of the White House white-ed out, Virginia buried in sugar, and Times Square in a slowed-down slushy frenzy. But here in bla bla boring Connecticut (the fantasy land where nothing happens, children!) we have freezing weather and dry, crunchy grass. Not snow. Not snow. Not snow!!! Ugh!!!
So I got really really bored. I remembered the stock of colored clay left over from various school projects hiding out in our "arts n' crafts" cupboard. I zoomed over to it and hauled out 2 massive Ziploc bags (oh Ziploc, I love you) filled to the brim with clay. So I decided to play Let's-give-Barbie-a-makeover! without the enthusiasm of a demon older brother. Instead, I went in with the enthusiasm of Stacy and Clinton. (Stacy and Clinton, I love you more then Ziploc [and that's saying ah-lot])
Meet Matilda, a 50 something with two grown-up sons (who joined the Army at her request). Matilda, although she has a alpha-fearless personality, is afraid to get her eye brows waxed or plucked. Matilda doesn't realize she is one of many who share that fear, or lived with bushy eye brows without seeing how bushy they really were. (hint hint, another girl with formally bushy brows loves purple...) Knowing she was in the danger zone, she called in the Girl In The Purple Pants for emergency treatment. (cue the sirens!!!!)
Note the bushy eyebrows and the crossed arms. Her body language says, "Don't mess with me or, or, or, or... somethin' bad'll happen!!!!"
The random portrait sure doesn’t like Matilda either.
And ta da, with a whoosh of my plastic knife and overgrown finger nails, Matilda’s gorilla-like looks vanished. By "waxing" Matilda’s brows a lot, and letting her tight hair style run free, Matilda the Menace transformed into Matilda the Magnificent. Yay for Matilda!!
I need to find a better way to use my time constructively. And "constructively" doesn't mean giving ugly clay balls "makeovers".
This is going to be a long, long, long, winter break.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Newspapers and Guy Friends.

I'm going to be a published author soon! Not on the Internet, in a real, papery newspaper. That you hold. The type that guys with handle-bar mustaches brandish to their families to show their emotions instead of speaking, like in some sort of coded language; the type that stylish fashion magazine editors roll up after reading over a Venti cup of coffee (not joe, cofffffeeeeee) and use to direct their interns. Yes, my written work is going to be in one of those. It doesn't matter that it's a small Florida paper, it's still newspaper, that people who aren't my friends or family read. It doesn't matter that those people happen to be senior citizens living in active adult communities, and not middle school-ers like me. (If they're "active adults" and like to read, that's a decent audience by my standards) No matter what, it's a start. I'll take anything.

My grandma (Siti from last post [it means grandma in Arabic]) loved my first post so much that she spread it all over her neighborhood in Florida, not even days after I posted it. Now, not even a week later, Siti forwarded it to the editor of her local paper, The Viewpointe. And The Viewpointe wants to publish it in their paper!! (except the editor wants permission to edit it, so I said ok...)

But I am quite lost. I want to meet this editor, and establish some common ground. I need to email her. What section is my piece going to be in? How many counties get the paper? When are they publishing it? Google isn't helping me figure this out.

I got the email from my grandma on my cell phone during an after school holiday party for a math club I'm in (I know it says that I hate math on my "about me" thing, but I get grabbed into all of these clubs and I don't know what to do...!!) and I got all excited and started jumping up and down. One of my bestest friends ever, A (He's a guy, but as I said, I'm not using real names. How many guy names could there be that start with A? [don't answer that question] ) asked what and I showed him the email. He didn't really, I don't know, understand it, so I shout-explained, "My blog is going to be published in a newspaper!!" He said, "What do you blog about? Why are they going to publish it?" and I said, "I don't know, 'cause it's good!". He pointed out the part about the editor editing it. "They're probably going to edit the whole thing". I'm not going to tell you how much I really wanted to shout "Dude! You're supposed to be my best friend!! Be happy for me!!!". (looks like I did tell you) But I didn't say that, because I'm such a reserved little big mouth...

Well that doesn't make much sense, does it? Oh well. But you know that feeling when you think people are going to be thrilled-out-of-their-minds for you, but they're not? It's worse when you're best friend is the one who isn't happy for you. And that makes you question your relationship with them.

Maybe A wasn't happy for me because he's a guy and guys don't always understand. I've always tried to ignore that people think that, that when you're a teenager, boys are stupid stupid stupid. I've always figured that when a boy is your best friend that rule ceases to exist.

But maybe when you grow up boys and girls grow farther and farther apart because they have nothing in common anymore: they don't share the same goals, aren't happy for the same reasons, and just aren't alike. They can't be normal friends. I wish that wasn't true.

It's been harder and harder for me to see A because of our busy schedules. We only have one class together, different sports, different advisers (like a home room teacher) different activities, and different everything. I've been working like crazy for student government, select chorus, the school musical, basketball, and other various obligations. We don't even get to talk that often, not even text. It's weird. Last year we always got to hang out because we had the same home room. Now my girlfriends pulled me into their clique and it's like I can't hang out with anybody else, especialiy the boys who aren't "the leaders of the pack" and have eighth grade girlfriends, like A and his friends. It's a pity. I miss my best friend.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Thank You Thank You!!!

Stupid last minute reports. I always leave them for the last minute. The last minute as being the night before they're due.
I'd like to thank the Lord for my ability to write a lot of stuff fast, and still have it be pretty good. Thank you, Lord. If I didn't have this skill, I'd be pretty much doomed right now. Luckily I just banged out a report in a half an hour. Yay for my writing genes!! (Thank you, Siti, for passing down the literature gene. It's really useful haha)

Today, my Secret Snowman left me another package neon-green duct taped to my locker. This time it was two giant Kit Kats, wrapped!!! Whoever you are Secret Snowman, I love you.
I also love I good ironic photo. Random, yes. Funny, yes. It's a win-win situation!!!

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

The Headless Ghost Of Christmas Future (that's meeee!!!!)

Remember I told you readers about the head I had to hold for my part in Mr. Scrooge. Well here it is. (My friends and I named in Myrtle haha)

Merry Christmas!!

Right now I'm licking my first candy cane of the season. Yummmmmmm...

We do this "Secret Snowman" thing at my school, you know, like exchanging presents to your assigned person secretly. I have the best snowman ever! When I got to school this morning, there was a package neon-green-duct taped to my locker with my name on it. It had two bags of M and Ms (my latest obsession) and a tube of cherry Chapstick. (my whole-life obsession). I was frolicing on cloud nine the rest of the day, partly because I was shoving multiple M and Ms at a time into my mouth whenever I could.

Yummiest day ever.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Latin Laughing-Disorders

A couple of minutes ago, I was doing my homework and gave my self a paper cut on one of my binder dividers. I cursed, and of course, my hawk-like mother (who FYI, I love) asked what. I told her I got a paper cut and she screamed. She said she hated paper cuts and I asked why, and then went into the gruesome details of one. But before I could even utter the second word she screamed louder and covered her ears. "No no no!!!!!" she shouted.

Yep, that's my crazy family for you.

Really, everyone in my life is a charecter. Especially my latin teacher, Mrs. M.

I love Mrs.M. She's hilarious. In class, she tells us these funny stories from her childhood. If I could interview anybody I know, I would choose her.

This time of the year in the Language Department in my school, every language group has to memorize a poem. My seventh grade class is doing 12 lines from a poem about the fall of Troy. (ok, it's supposed to be really famous, like this dude Vergil wrote it, but I never heard about it before, so it's not famous by my standards :) ) Mrs. M says everyday that she gave us the longest poem of all and then she always laughs.

Last night my mom and I practiced this poem for about an hour. I thought I was pretty good at it. Mrs. M wanted us to be really really dramatic, so I jumped on the ottoman shouting "O patria!!!!! O divum!!!!! Domus Illium et incluta bello!!!!" at the top of my lungs. My mom looked at me like I was a mad woman. I just said that Latin had finally taken over my mind.

Today in class we had to record our voices doing it, as a practice for when we do the real test-grade-equivalent thing. I was totally ready.

Maybe I should mention that I have this laughing disorder. It's not, like, real or anything, but I laugh and giggle so much it has to be in my genes.

When I sat down at the desk with the recorder, I asked Mrs. M if I could use my hands, because that's the way I practiced. She said yes.

I was the loudest of them all. My arms were flying all over the place, slapping the desk, snapping my fingers. I must have said "Um" a hundred times at high speed in each line.

There is this one word in the poem, Dardanidum, which I CANNOT pronounce AT ALL. I must have practiced that one word with my mom for fifteen minutes last night. I always had pronounced it as "Darn-danny-dum".

When it was time to deliver that word when I was recording, I stutterd "dar dar dar danny dar dar uh dar danny dar danny dar dar uh dar danny dar dar" for a whole minute straight!!! I was laughing my face off.

The good news was that everyone was laughing their faces off with me. And it was real, this-is-seriouslly-funny-stuff laughter. Like the way people laugh during a new episode of The Office. Mrs. M was laughing the hardest. Her face was all red, along with everybody elses. When I finished, I was rewarded with a head-pat-hair-tousle gesture from Mrs. M, and she declared that I "have to be a stand-up comedian some point in your life!!!!"

I felt good in the end. The rest of the day everyone quoted me by saying "dar dar dar danny dum!" in what I thought was an awful impression of me. I hope so... because they added a Western-Asia accent, and I was supposed to be Latin...

Monday, December 14, 2009

School Dances

After my friends read my first post, they thought that I sounded like a hermit. So I think I should mention that I'm not a hermit, or an introvert, or "socially awkward", as one of my best friends, Jos, says. I'm actually quite social.

Last Friday night was my first middle school dance. I love dances. I'm a horrible dancer and I know it, but that doesn't stop me. Thanks to by abnormal jumping skills, I usually look like a freak kangaroo/girl. But I still love dances. I would love the slow songs, but I don't because... because....

Because I'm left with no one to dance with!!! Ugh!!! It was my first middle school dance last Friday night, after the opening of Mr. Scrooge. Thanks to the bun and theatre make up (again), I felt like a Pantene model. (again). My friends and I ran to the cafetria, where the dance was, and bursted through the double doors, all out of breath.

The cafetria, usually ugly as all get-out, looked fabulous. Thanks to the ambition of the middle school government (I am proud to say that I am the vice president of the seventh grade!!) the space was Candyland, just the way we planned it. The only problem was that nobody was dancing. The DJ tried his hardest to get people on the floor, but it just wasn't working. Poor dude. Must have been awkward for him.

Soon enough the party was in full swing. Everyone, I mean everyone, was busting out their craziest moves. One kid jumped on a table and the chaperones had to pull him down. (Gosh, that was funny!!!)

The middle school (from here on out referred to as "MS") government had to sell soda and (duh) candy. I saw the eighth grade vice president alone at the table, looking sad and bored out of his mind. I zoomed over to him, and forced him to go dance.

And while all this was happening, two of my best friends and I were trying to get one of them to dance with the boy she liked. It didn't really work, thanks to a certain somebody.

Anyway, there I was, at the consessation stand, and the first slow song of the night passed me by.

My heart pinged. I saw couples drift on to the floor, and there I was, Cinderella, alone waiting for whats-his-face-the-prince to come along.

But he never came.... :(

I looked out for the boy I told I liked. He was with his friends, and thankfully, not dancing with anybody. (The day after I told him I liked him he made a beeline for me and told me that he was sorry for what he said and I told him that I just really wanted to go out with anybody and I was going to wait until somebody I really, really liked to come around... he seemed a little upset that I didn't like him...? But now we're just friends.)

Then, my MS dean and then-savior, Mr. C, (I'm not using full names) came over and said that he would run the stand and I could dance. I thanked him profoudly and zoomed off. Half of the slow song was over.

Later in the night they played another slow song. And this time, almost everybody danced. Except me and four of my girlfriends. To break the tension, we tried dancing with each other... but, as obvoius, it didn't work out and we ruined the perfect all-American-romance moment. Instead, we high-fived each other and chant-whispered, "Ya gotta be single to mingle!!"

Too bad all the boys I wanted to dance with were hanging out in the lobby-area that lead out into the courtyard. I don't think any of them heard the slow song playing. But it didn't matter, because I didn't have a single ounce of nerve to ask them to dance. Do you say "Do you want to dance with me?" and tilt your head and bat your eyelashes? Or do you violently grab their wrists and hurl them onto the dance floor?? I NEED ADVICE!!!!!!

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Hello World!!!!

OH MY GOSH I have a blog. I feel like a sophisticated city girl who rides on my bike taking pictures of stylish people... like Bill Cunningham, the man who takes NYC street style photos for the NY Times.

But that's about where the similarites end. I don't live in a city where cool, Vouge-ish people parade the streets; I live in suburban Connecticut. I'm also an average middle school girl who has a passion for writing.

And, I think I should mention that I'm not one of the "cool girls". Definitely. Everything you will read here is from that perspective.

I know for a fact that I only have about 5 followers (so far...?): my parents, my grandparents, my brother (after he finishs on Cartoon and my theatre teacher, Mr. A. (Ok, maybe that's not 5, but I'm not a math scholar). Mr. A inspired me to start this blog, so that's why I'm here now.

For class, we had to write these "journals" after each week about what we learned in class and how it connected to the world. Everybody loathed writing these, except me, 'cause it was the only way for me the keep my grade up. (I stink at acting and all things that have to do with acting. Except I like directing, becuase you can boss the actors around... yep)
Anyway, the reason I liked the journals so much is because it gave me somebody to talk to when I was writing. When I wrote in my personal journal, well, it's not like you have anybody to talk to, 'cause really, you're going to be the only person reading it. And that really didn't satisfy me. When Mr. A announced that last week's theatre journal was going to be our last because of the end-of-semester busy-ness, I was the only one not cheering.

So in the last theatre journal, I wrote that I really liked the journals, and that I considered writing a blog... bla bla bla. He responded saying that I have the style for a blog, that I should think about who I wanted to write to in my blog ... So I thought and thought for awhile, I thought about doing a style blog, a photo blog, but then I finally came up with this: a blog about the real middle school. The trials and tribulations of middle school.

Too bad all of that didn't fit into the "name your blog" space, along with The Girl In The Purple Pants. My parents didn't let me put my real name here, so I wanted my title name to be like "The Girl In The Green Scarf" from one of my favorite movies, Confessions of a Shopoholic.

Oh yeah, the purple pants. They're kind of like my trademark. They're these beyond awesome pair of skinny jeans from Forever 21. I think they were meant for my legs. People know me for the pants.

Ok, middle school time. I'm a seventh grader at a private school. Going to a school so small, drama stirs up quickly...

I was inspired to write the blog about middle school by something that happened to me last Thursday.

So on Thursday, I got the nerves to tell a boy that I liked him. I thought I was reading the signs right: his arms randomly on my shoulders, stuff like that. But I guess I was wrooooooooong.

It was 4:15 after school (how I remember these details... I don't know). We had after-school rehearsal for the musical we were in. Rehearsal was supposed to end at 6, but our teacher let us out waaaay early. (The opening night was Friday night). So it was absolutly beautiful outside. Nobody's parents were there. And, thanks to theatre make up and the bun I had to wear, once I took it out my hair was blowing in the wind like a Pantene model. I was con-fi-dent.

Once he came outside, I got jittery and jumpy. (I can jump abnormaly high, so it looked weird) My friends urged me along, so I grabbed his sleve and pulled him away from everybody.

Gosh, it was awkward. I just said it. He said, "I care about your feelings and all, but I don't share them", or something like that. And my bubble completly burst. 'Cause you know, if you put your arm around a girl's shoulders, doesn't that mean something?

Then my younger brother, who's awkwardly a red head among a family with dark, dark hair, ran into the picture. He was giggling and yelling, 'cause that's pretty much a fifth grader's job, embarrasing his older sister. In. Front. Of. A. Boy.

But I was sort of thankful that he was there, because that meant my mom was there, and I was free to go home. And just run away.

If you're like me, and things like looking "cute" seems to come harder, welcome to the club. This blog is for you. Also, if you happen to be one of the kids who gets the "ugly" parts in school plays, please realize that you are not alone.

Because I am one of those kids.

At my school, in sixth grade, we do this big musical. The sixth grade isn't a part of the middle school, so it's like saying, welcome to our theatre department, bla bla bla. For my sixth grade, last year, we did the musical Fiddler On The Roof.

For those of you out there who aren't familiar with this production, it takes place in Russia during the 1800s. So Tevye, a poor farmer who lives in a run-down village, has 5 daughters, which really stunk back then. He wanted desperately to get his 3 oldest married off, so he went to me, Yente, the old, wrinkly, matchmaker. When some of the kids were upset about the parts they got, my homeroom teacher comforted us by saying "She (our theatre director) chooses the parts by seeing who looks the most like the role". And that didn't make me feel any better.

Meanwhile, a nice, pretty girl who I'm friends with, was one of the main love interests. And she was the love interest again in this play, the one that I finished tonight.

So this middle school musical, Mr. Scrooge, (like the Christmas Carol) I was the headless ghost. I had to carry a bloody head (fake, but it looked real because my teacher who made it is an artistic genius) with long, gray, bloody hair. And the worst part was, people said I looked like it. (Then they said the hair was the same, the hair and only the hair. But what is that supposed to mean?!)

So for those of you who feel like me, like you have to jump over an extra barrier to achieve middle school social sucess, fear not!!! You are not alone!!!