Tootzers

Salty. This word usually associates itself with taste, but I will use this descriptor to define my attitude this week. Weirdly enough, my salty demeanor leads me to become outrageously eccentric, including uncontrollable laughter and a high-pitched whiny voice that irritates my own ears. Anyway, today as I sulked over to my anatomy group, sat down without saying a word, and did my “group work” completely alone, my fellow AP English classmate, Elliot, pointed out my apparent impudent attitude. And somehow this turned into a “let’s all make fun of Becky” hour. I believe that Elliot created this bantering to discontinue the dirty looks that were thrown his way for trying to converse with me. The topic Elliot chose: my obsession with my dog. I do not feel that strong affection felt towards a pet in any way, shape, or form should be considered bad. I feel that excessive love for animals lives as a common feeling for teenage girls. But whatever, let’s all laugh about it. Once we fully divulged into my affection for my Pembroke Welsh Corgi, Tootsie, I realized how much I really am obsessed with her. Not only did I force my group members to “oooh” and “aahh” over Instagram-edited pictures of my pet, I forced my teacher to participate in the mandatory admiration. After my dramatic whining about how adorable my Champion in Show dog looked, many other peers decided to join in on making fun of my beloved K9. Maybe making Tootsie a Facebook two years ago with my family over winter break crossed the line. Maybe I deserved the harassment I received from my classmates. Maybe I should not have cried when my guy friends stole my dog right out of my house and drove her around my neighborhood for twenty minutes. I still cringe when I visualize my cherished dog in the back of Grant Lingafelter’s Jeep, immobilized by fear. (They claim she loved it, but I highly doubt it) Maybe the heated words I spat at my girlfriends for helping my friends dog-nap Tootsie did not need to leave my mouth. Maybe I should not routinely wear and flaunt my Corgi socks. Maybe the best Halloween costume for Tootsie this year was not a hotdog. Maybe I should not take it personally when my friends call Tootsie “fish dog” for her rancid breath, or make fun of her short legs and beady eyes. But I believe that a dog truly remains man’s best friend. And yeah, maybe my obsession with Tootsie remains on the extreme side, but I do not believe I am the only one with a pet obsession….ELLIOT.   

True Life: I'm Obsessed with Eye Lashes

Almost every dancer confidently affirms that their favorite part of dancing lives in the performance aspect. And the week leading up to a big performance sends nervous shivers and excited tremors through the dancer’s body. Every day this week, I have dreamt of my performance of Mama Mia this weekend. Not only performing, but embarrassingly enough, the pre-performance rituals. I strangely possess an obsession with eye lashes. Some of my friends make fun at me and call them spider lashes while the others compliment me on my weird obsession. Either way, I love them. And I kid you not, every day this week, I have dreamt of placing fake eyelashes on the rim of my eye and feeling the lashes stretch past my eyebrows and tickle my forehead. I understand how weird this sounds, but I am not the only one who feels this way! My fellow dancers and I all undergo this feeling of adoration toward fake eyelashes and putting on pounds of make-up. But, why? I feel that this act of concealment parallels to Gatsby’s disguising actions after he witnessed Daisy murder Myrtle in The Great Gatsby. Instead of frantically torching his car or running away to some desolate island, he took a long, peaceful swim in his private swimming pool. Then the question arises…does Gatsby actually not care about the violent murder? Or, is he just masking his emotions, like the concealing powers of make-up, with the thoughtless actions of a leisurely swim? We will never find out. But I know that in my case, I purposefully cake on the make-up, glue the fake eyelashes, and sprinkle the glitter, for my purpose remains to pretend to live as someone else. And just like a five year old child, I enjoy dressing up and playing pretend more than anything else in the world.

GUYS, I FIGURED IT OUT!

At first, I did not know the reason. Actually, I did not know a problem existed. If any of you happened to stumble upon my blog post from last week, you probably noticed that I kind of went on an emotional rampage, attempting to make excuses as to why I do not talk in class discussion. I knew I possessed a problem, and I did not know the answer. But I think I found it. Get ready, things are about to get personal. I surprisingly found the answer to my problem in the character Gatsby. But, I will not give all the credit to this tangled fictional character. Whether Ms. Serensky knows it or not, she assisted me in completing my search for what remains wrong with me. First, after asking what could possibly be wrong with me, Ms. Serensky went on to give me a little pep talk. And as I walked out of her classroom today, I discovered it. THE ANSWER! A man who possesses all the money anyone could ever ask for and enjoys the company of many people who remain enthralled by his existence holds a flaw. A single flaw that he covers up by his ravish parties and pleased smile. A flaw that I first discovered in my reading last night. The great and distinguished Gatsby lives as an insecure man. And I do not know if he even knows it. Then the light bulb went off! I can confidently state that I remain the busiest person I know. And I love every minute of my crazy lifestyle. Every day I go to school, go to the gym, go to dance until ten, and then do my homework. And most of the time, I end up waking up at five in the morning because I fell asleep doing my homework. Oh, and did I mention that I work three jobs!  The addiction to my hectic activities sometimes leaves me blind to what I actually am feeling. I discovered today that I have become insecure. Like Gatsby, I cover up my lack of self-confidence with mind boggling undertakings, as he covers up his anxiety with parties and money. The strangest thing subsides in the fact that I never have been insecure before. I lead the Varsity Cheerleading squad for the past two years. I received a lead in every dance production I took part in since tenth grade. I remain confident and positive during these moments. But once I step inside of a situation where I feel intellectually inferior to the people surrounding me, I lose it. Which remains why I struggle to talk in discussion and express my opinion. I keep putting myself down, but I know I possess what it requires to take Advanced Placement English. I just need to move past this bizarre feeling of self-doubt and know that I can do it.

The Silent Treatment

Lately, I’m always the one. The one who everyone glimpses at during the awkward silence, my peers speculating if I inhabit the will to fill the void with an intelligent discovery of Myrtle’s disposition. I remain the one who feels Ms. Serensky’s eyes glaring at my downturned head, unable to look up because I consciously feel the “Come on Becky, TALK!!” expression that shoots from her eyeballs. The cause might lay in the fact that my parents just paid my enrollment and housing deposit at The University of Alabama. The cause also might lay in the senioritis that runs through my veins, which were apparent my sophomore year of high school. Or finally, the cause might remain that I just don’t have anything to say. I will fully admit that I remain intimidated during the intellectual discussions that take place on a day to day basis. I know for a fact that I do not obtain a membership to the “smart group,” my own personal classification of who could easily write for The New York Times or become a prestigious doctor at The Cleveland Clinic. Don’t get me wrong, I do not think I view myself as stupid. But, I take Advanced Placement English to challenge myself. I know that I do not exist as the Ivy League type, but I like to surround myself with people who live as that type. But throughout class, I endure listening to my classmates discuss the points that I wanted to discuss. Not only do I endure just them taking my points, but they find a particular underlying meaning of the simple anecdote. But that’s not all! They also say it in a way, using literary devices and advanced vocabulary that leaves me speechless. Literally. But wait, it gets better. Other people find themselves in this same predicament. Their point already made, and they need to say something so a check can reside next to their name. So, they repeat the same exact point with the same exact quotes, and twist the wording up. Yay, overkill! And now, I remain completely speechless. I know I need to find an answer to this problem, for my grade will most likely suffer due to my silence during discussion. But sometimes, I just don’t have anything to say.

The World Outside "The Bubble"

Oh, the woes of arriving to a brand new school. Imagine, arriving to a school where everyone knows each other. LIFERS!! This term not only makes me nauseous, but makes me weirdly thankful. When I lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, I attended an extremely diverse elementary school and middle school.   A lovely mixture of African Americans, Indians, Asians, and Hispanics. I grew up around all different types of people, forcing me to accept and love any type of person, no matter their race. Imagine the culture shock I endured when I moved into the bubble! I lived as one confused thirteen year old. Consequently, as I read Roddy Doyle’s New Boy, a surge of memories swarmed my brain. I felt the same confusion and anxiety that young Joseph experienced. It happens to every new kid. The uncomfortable out-of-place sentiment. At the time of the move, I full heartedly believed that my life ended. I believed that I could not survive. Forced to leave my best friends behind and discover new friends. Forced to live in a sea of white. To my surprise, however, when I visited my friends in Charlotte this past weekend, I underwent an astonishing revelation. I missed the bubble. I missed the small town. I did not even know what to think! And get this…I discovered, when I made it back to Chagrin, that I missed Charlotte! So I guess the cliché phrase remains true. You always want what you cannot have. But no matter who I miss, and who I don’t, I am tremendously thankful for my past. It taught me more than I imagined. The difference between big city and small town and the difference between diversity and uniformity. I believe that moving at such a key time in my life really will positively impact me in the long run. I lived in both worlds, and I know what the world outside of the Chagrin bubble looks like. Hip hip hooray for non-lifers!

The Person I Want To Be

As I sat down yesterday, determined to start and finish my blog entry, a mental breakdown ensued. Writer’s block at its finest. I searched and scrambled through my notebook, certain I could find something that I could write about. And, to my dismay, I found nothing. I calmly told myself that everything would be okay, that something would pop into my head…the usual pep talk. After going to bed without writing a word, I felt defeated. As I walked into Ms. Serensky’s room this Halloween morning, I remembered my failure yesterday, and how disappointed she would be in me. My eyes automatically lingered above her head to her quote, written in neat blue letters. It read, “Never mind searching for who you are. Search for the person you aspire to be. – Robert Brault.” It was as if Ms. Serensky felt my pain and suffering and decided to put a quote on the board that I could write about for years. It pertained to my life, and better yet, it pertained to this very week. As many of my peers know, I aspire to dance for the rest of my life. I want to own a dance studio and ignite the passion in young dancers as my teachers did me. It’s my dream. I want to be a dancer. I want to be a dance instructor. The common reaction when I tell adults my aspiration remains a big, fake smile and a wimpy, “good luck!” But, I know I can do it. I searched for who I want to be, and I found it. Therefore, tomorrow morning, I will rise and shine many hours before the sun will rise and drive to Columbia, South Carolina, where I will audition to become a dance major at the University of South Carolina. I am not going to find out what kind of person I am, I am going to become the person I want to be.

Love is Life

"She did not want to leave it yet" (270). The juxtaposition. The change in feeling. The change of heart. Olive Kitteridge wanted to live. Only a few weeks before, Olive explained, "I don't care if i die...I'd like it" (254). Thinking about it, I do care if I die, I am just not afraid of death. Vast difference. Death does not loom over me like a haunting shadow. I know that it will come, and that it remains inevitable. I can not escape it. My heart will "someday stop, as all hearts do" (269). But, unlike Olive, I do care. I want to fight for my life, try to live as long as possible. Live everyday to the fullest. I believe Olive's change of heart came with the sensation of passion and love. Laying in the sunny room with Jack Kennison, feeling nothing but love and wanting. It lit her spark again. She wanted to live. Author, Elizabeth Stout, claims that every human being needs to be needed. No matter how old or how young, love remains what keeps people alive. I have seen it with my very own eyes. My grandfather had found a soul mate. Although lung cancer took my grandmother away from him at the ripe age of 62, he had found another love.  Zella Davidson. They were madly in love with each other, spending all day together. They decided it would be best not to marry, for they both knew how old each of them were becoming. After a happy two years together, Zella was diagnosed with stage four brain cancer. A month later, she passed away. My grandpa was ripped apart. We all knew he was not going to live much longer after Zella died. He did not have anything to look forward to when he woke up in the morning. All of the compassion and love in his life vanished. A short four months later, he was gone. Living proof. Love is life.