Tag Archives: high school

The post that was harder to write than I thought, and is a little more personal than I’d like.

My sister has got it figured out. Her first job was a summer internship at the place my dad works at. In the Fall, they asked her to stay with them, and soon offered her to be full-time. She never had to put in applications all over town, or go job hunting on a rainy day, running into every store in strip malls asking if they’re hiring. She moved out as soon as she turned eighteen. Like I could ever imagine affording that. She just got married at age twenty in March of 2010. She never had to go through a post-graduation, pre-anything-meaningful-in-life, quarter-life crisis or anything. Not only is her life fulfilling, simplistic, and everything she’d always wished it would be, it’s everything I wished my life would be.

There she is, happily married, has always had an enjoyable and rewarding job, loving being a wife and cooking and working out and trying new things, driven, and being exactly where she feels she is meant to be. And here I am. I graduated High School last summer, and then went away to a wonderful school that I loved, only to be flipped on my head. My Vocal Performance major, which had been all I had known, ended up not being what I loved or thrived doing. Linguistics, my new focus, was not offered as a degree at that school. Also, it turned out that I actually felt limited and trapped on campus rather than the “Go, be free and independent!” that freshman year of college is supposed to promise.

So I came home. I transferred to my local community college, taking some courses that will work towards my degree (nothing specialized, unfortunately – just Spanish, film, English Comp, etc.). Now, I NEVER imagined myself being here. I still kind of can’t believe I’m here. Unlike my sister, I am exactly where I never hoped or thought or imagined I would be. I’m going to community college. I’m working a part-time job, to make money, to buy gas, to drive to my part-time job. I then come home, where I live with my parents, and put up with three obnoxious, past-their-cute-prime, eat-my-favorite-articles-of-clothing dogs. I have a car that thinks going into the shop once a week is a spa treatment – seriously, it’s been in the shop three or four times in one month.  I didn’t just come back home to figure out what to do next, or to work and get my degree, I came home to an unfriendly not-so-welcome into the grown-up world of court dates, used car shopping, boss issues, and realizing just how unaffordable and tedious being a grown up is.

I’ve been feeling a heck of a lack of drive. There’s no diploma I’m working for, or a career I can’t wait to start and do things with, or anything like that. The next thing in life I’m really looking forward to or excited about is getting married, starting a family, being a good housewife and mom and cooking and laughing. But it’ll be quite some time until I (or my significant other) can afford a wedding and place to live. And so it’s turned to myself. The only thing I can think to set goals with is to work out X many times a week, or tone up this or that part of my body. But even that gets old and tiring and discouraging.

My mom’s been bugging me about getting back into extracurricular activities that I loved in high school, which are not as easy or simple to get involved with or that have a point as when they’re run by your school (for example, working towards a recital or concert or opening night of the Spring musical). There is an audition for a play I’m going to do, but that’s in June (and as I’m writing this, it just hit me that maybe my week away in Georgia to see my best friend in July might hinder that involvement. I know a lot of times, they want some one who will be at every rehearsal – especially for any role bigger than “Chorus Dancer #6” or “Frightened Inmate #3”). I’ve been encouraged to call my high school voice teacher to begin lessons again – which I probably will, and I’ll enjoy it, but it’ll just be to pass the time. I know now that I don’t want a vocal arts career and so I don’t know if I’ll see much reason to it other than to just further improve my skills for… what, exactly?

When I put in a lot of job applications around town when I first transferred back home, two places were interested: a sandwich shop in the town right down the road, and the Cafe I work at now, which offered me an interview and job sooner than the former had. That being said, the sandwich shop did call me twice about an interview, but I had to tell them I just couldn’t add on another job with being in school and already working part time. However, now that school is over, I called them and asked about an interview to possibly add it on as a second job. But they seemed hesitant about reconciling my current sporadic schedule and about the number of people they already have that will discontinue their employment there in the fall when school starts up again (I’ll probably just go on with my current job and school schedule, like I did last semester), and that they would call me back. And I don’t know if I really want them to ask me to come in. I don’t know if I want a second job because I might as well make money if I have time on my hands, or if I think it could be fun or if I actually don’t want it but for some reason think it might be enough of a change in my life to make things interesting. I might have a new goal of learning how things worked and the recipes and the menu. I just don’t know.

So this is where I’m left. To all of you who have it figured out and are happy and fulfilled with your lives, congratulations. You’re very fortunate to be in your position and I hope it continues to give you many years of contentment. And for all those like me, I’m sure we’ll get through and something exciting and meaningful will happen to us eventually.

And I’m just trying to figure out where to go from here.

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“Yearbook” is one word, right?

You know what’s always weird about school this time of year?       Signing yearbooks.

There’s several types of yearbook signers:

  • Those who take up a whole page with giant, bubbly handwriting. These people probably don’t really care what they’re writing to you; they just want to make themselves feel important.
  • Those who take up a whole page with an actual, heart-felt letter.  These people are probably some of your best friends. The letter is either sentimental and will make you cry and sad to graduate or it’s hilarious and will make you laugh until you cry and possibly pee your pants.
  • Then there’s the complete opposite: The people who write “HAGS” and their name, if not their initials. Or they only sign their name/initials. (Warning: if I sign your yearbook like this, I probably sort of hate you.)
  • There are those people who have one signature message that they write in everyone’s yearboook. This message probably goes something like this: “Hey! This year was so much fun with you! I hope you have an awesome Summer! We should totally hang out! Stay cool!”  Blah blah blah.
  • Those people who, similarly, write the same thing in everyone’s yearbook but it’s only an uncomfortable little rhyme that they think is clever.  Example: “Some sign in front, some sign in back, but look at me, I signed your crack!”  (…..Yeah.  I’ve had that one before…..)
  • There are those who write something just to write something. “Hey. Hi, hello, howdy, hola….  H is a fun letter.” (This is an actual entry in my own yearbook.)
  • Those who read all the other entries in some one’s yearbook and secretly try to top them all with the ultimate yearbook message.
  • And then there are those acquaintences who mention only a couple inside jokes: “Remember when you hit your head on a broom stick and got that bruise on your head for Homecoming? Sooo funny! See you next year!”  (Also an actual entry in my yearbook.) (I never did that.)

I’m pretty sure I’ve experienced all the above sorts of yearbook signers by now.  But, you know what?  I have one more year left and I hope that next year I’ll be able to read some messages in the back of my book and not think “I wonder if they actually meant it.”

There’s also a couple different MOs when it comes to people letting you sign their yearbook:

  • Those who reserve three pages – each page for a different “bestie” to take up the entire space of.
  • Those who won’t let anyone at all sign it until their BEST FRIEND signs it first.
  • Those who secretly compete with everyone else to get the most signatures in their yearbook, regardless of whether they are actually friends or not and secretly check out everyone else’s yearbooks.
  • Those people who are too cool for you to sign their yearbooks and lend it out to their exclusive groupies and whenever you ask if you could sign their yearbook always say that one of their cronies has it.
  • Those people who tell you that they didn’t get one because they don’t want you to want to sign it.
  • Those who really don’t take it that seriously but might appreciate the nostalgia and lets anyone who really wants to sign their yearbook. I am this person.
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Then He Loves You.

(Repost: from Brandy)

If he always gives you the last bite of his sandwich or the first lick of his ice cream cone, then he loves you.

If he’s seen your high school yearbook photo and says he still loves you, then he loves you.

If he’s counted all your freckles,- even the ones behind your knees, then he loves you.

If, right before sleep, he leans in, buries his nose in your hair and inhales, and when you ask what he’s doing, he smiles a smile that reminds you of a secret and says ‘nothing’, then he loves you.

If he tells you that you make chickenpox sexy, then he loves you. He’s lying, but he loves you.

If he’s laid beside you in a too small bed, in a too dark room and listened as you told him all the ways you feel like you are failing, then he loves you.

If he remembers the name of your arch enemy from the sixth grade and hates her because he knows all about how she started the rumor that you only used boys deodorant, when you didn’t– then he loves you. And he hates her. But he loves you.

If he’s ever attempted to wash your hair because you said that scene in “Out of Africa” really gets you, then he loves you.

If he makes sure that you never have to sit beside his friend Dominic, the one who never washes his hair and smells like the bottom of a dumpster, then he loves you.

If you are Salma Hayek, then he loves you.

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Maximum Capacity for Awesome!

       Last night was my high school’s first choir concert of the year!  It was also my frst performance with show choir. As nervous as I was, I rocked the concert! Oh, it was so much fun!  I performed two songs with my show choir, one with a select ensemble, one with the women’s ensemble, and four with the whole of Chorale.

       The ending piece was a medly of songs from the Lion King. One of my few complaints with that one is that no body had any energy. That morning, we were told to be moving around a little and smiling.  I mean it’s Lion King for goodness sake! Anyway, I told my dad about that at the afterglow.

          “Well, I saw several people moving; most of them were in the back row.”
          “Yeah! Because we’re tall! There’s more of us!      Maximum capacity for awesome!”

 

 

       I had a bigger group of people that came and saw me than ever before to any of my performances ever.

 

       And today, I actually kind of understood my chemistry class. And I got a lot done in AP English. I’m writing an essay on The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls.  If you haven’t read it yet, I highly reccomend it. Anyway, while we were in the computer lab, I recieved a carnation-gram for sweetest day!! ME.  I’ve never recieved a flower from anyone in my school!  😀                   ……Okay, so it was from one of my good friends, but nevertheless, it made my day!  Besides, she’s kind of one of those people where I’m surprised that she chose to pay to have a flower sent to me of all people, me of all her other friends. (Yes, I know that sentence could have been executed much better, but I couldn’t figure out a better way to phrase it. I’m saving all my powers of perfect sentence structure for my essay)

 

 

Thing to smile about #16:  FINALLY getting the time, chance, and reason to write a real post again!

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An Upperclassman Now!

I’m home after the first day of school! I’m back to public school full time. Again. It started off really well because, even though I had to wake up at 5:30, I had a stupid good hair day! Just to clarify, that means my hair looked so good, it was stupid. And I was on the radio while I was doing my make up! I called in and the topic was “what are you looking forward to about school, and what are you dreading about it?”

My answer?  I’m looking forward to utilizing my new wardrobe! But I was dreading the fact that you don’t find out which lunch you have until third hour. I’m always so worried that I’ll go to my third hour class and it’ll be empty and locked. Okay, that’d mean that I have A lunch. So after that, I would go upstairs to lunch. By then, the lines would be horribly long and it’d take forever for me to get food. Then I’d stand on my toes in the cafeteria, looking very much like the first day of school, trying to find some one I know. By the time I do (if I do), I’ll have ten or fifteen minutes left. It’d all be downhill from there. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but I’ll get to that later.

My mom drove me to school this morning (not for moral support, but to save me the embarrassment of holding a giant poster for AP English for a while at the bus stop and having to carry and protect it around with me through bus conditions, of which I had no idea what to expect). We listened to Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz in the car on the way there.

My first hour is Chorale, which was nice because I’ve been in it for two years now already and it was comfortable to start off with that. Hopefully this year will go by much more smoothly than last year. Before the first concert, (our first actual performance was a funeral because) a boy named Tim, a bass in choir, died. Our Winter concert was moved to a nearby middle school because of a bomb threat at the high school – we learned that they were shutting down the whole building AFTER we had set up the entire bake sale. The next concert was enjoyably interrupted by the fire alarm going haywire in the middle of one of our songs. The last concert was the only one that went as expected.

My choir director is big on making sure we understand rules. This year, my school is actually enforcing the cell phone and dress code policies (now they’re not just taking our phones for the day, they’re keeping them until the next Monday). She went through our handbooks and skimmed over and lectured about different things.

One rule that she pointed out is “pornography or other inappropriate display may not be used to decorate the lockers.” After the initial giggling of the class, a sweet girl named Molly shouted out, “What!?”   Now, Molly is a really sweet girl. She’s adorable and naive and loves Disney, musicals, taking pictures, and the Jonas Brothers.   It. Was. Hilarious. When she reacted like that. Of course, she meant it as, “What? People actually do that?” But it sounded as if she was miffed because they don’t allow lockers to be decorated with porn, and everyone knew how she meant it and how it sounded. Believe me, it was a lot funnier if you were there and especially if you know Molly.

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Weather Fit For The Occasion.

     At almost this same time last year, on a Monday, I was sitting on the porch of my boyfriend-at-the-time. I was sitting on the cold, cement steps, in an oversized hoodie. His arm was round me and my hair was simply and carelessly pulled back. I had on little make up because most of it had been cried away earlier that morning. It was raining and dreary – appropriate weather for the most recent, tragic happenings.

     The Friday before was a regular school day. I had survived my first hour class, Honors English, and had routinely sang through second-hour Chorale. Lunch was as boring and uninteresting as it usually was. I had, again, not brought anything to eat and had, again, half-intentionally, not brought money to buy food. My table consisted of a few girls and fewer guys, all of whom I currently or previously shared choir with, except for one girl, who I met during the musical of the last school year. Three guys and four girls at my table, usually.

     Two of the girls were inseparable – they still are. They were both energetic and loved everything Disney and musicals. The girl I had met in the last school musical had red hair and played the piano. One guy had moved to America from Mexico before his sophomore year. I had met him the year before. Another was a boy I had gone to homecoming of freshman year “with.” Both were in Chorale. One boy was a freshman (who had come into the high school from the same middle school as I had attended), a bass in my choir, and the quietest one at the table. None of us really went out of our way to talk to him, but it wasn’t as if we ignored him or shunned him in any way. For the preceding couple weeks, he had offered to share a part of his lunch or had offered me a dollar or two. That Friday was no exception. He offered me some of his meal, consisting of a bag of chips, a carton of milk, and a burrito. Not particularly being a fan of any of those, I declined gratefully.

     The rest of that day was normal and uneventful. Or, rather, I assume it was uneventful because I don’t particularly remember anything else happening that day, or even the next. On Sunday, the speaker at my church (which was half an hour away from my home) had commented on the death of two local boys that had died in  a car crash. He named them and, at the time, it didn’t cause any bells to ring or any lit light bulbs to appear above my head. When I got home, I checked my Myspace (as I did religiously). When I looked in the bulletin space, I saw bulletin after bulletin entitled “Tim, we will miss you” and “Tim and Josh” and, finally, “RIP Tim and Josh.”

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