Teenagerrrrs

It is 12:00 and I am writing a blog that may or may not see the light of day.  Unfortunately, this happens.  A lot.  I get really enthusiastic about some things:  "I really love ice cream.  I like it when it is minty and I slather it in my mom's chocolate syrup with out her knowledge and then the cat tries to eat it and it's winter and I have to wear gloves in my room because I can see my breath [which is sadly true, but my mother recently bought me a lovely space heater and I have an electric blanket, so no tears should be shed for me], so to the blog!"  

Or, something of some importance happens during the day and it bothers me so I write something deep and philosophical, but it ends up more or less as a mess:  "This girl told me about all her sexual exploits, and I feel sorry for her for giving her self out like an old man with peppermints, and these are my very deep thoughts on these matters, and I just know that one day when I am successful and beautiful and the men will be begging for me and my purity, she will be working at Yankee Candle sorting  'Vanilla' and 'Sort of Like Vanilla But Not Really' candles, and I will buy her candles, and sadly remind her how I was right.  And she will cry and I will find her a nice man and lead her to Jesus all in the middle of Yankee Candle, and to the blog!

Or, something bad happens, and I usually I blow 'the problem' out of perspective and I lay in my room, listening to 'The Winner Takes it All' on repeat, and mulling over the fact that I'll never be happy and I'll die alone.  This usually includes sad napping (sleeping because you don't want to feel the pain *tear*) bawling and cuddling my Bible, asking God why is this happening to me?  Then I write angry blogs and they are kind of funny on reflection, and by the end of them I realize that I over reacted a lot.  All the same, to the blog!

My mom usually comes in during these dramatic performances and says things like 'Can you taste these chips and see if they're stale?  They're few days old, but they've never been opened,' 'Daddy sent you some you these, *hands bag of half eaten chocolate covered pears* and some movie that looks stupid' or 'Do you want to see the afghan I won at the cake walk tonight?'*

*Sadly, all of these are true and have no exaggeration on my part.  My mom always forces me to try or smell food if it's a little old, overcooked, undercooked, etc.  My dad always sends me weird food he's already ate half of (the weirdest being a set of hard, stale cinnabuns he made that tasted like cigarette smoke) paired with a weird movie that he found at Big Lots in the bottom of the bargain bin, that is sometimes good, but usually stupid and often in Spanish.  And lastly my mom has literally won about 5 quilts and/or afghans in some sort of raffle and I always have to put the new installment on her bed on top of the 4 others.  She usually comes home with about three cakes as well.  But I do not like cake, so I rarely eat any. (I know.  No, I know.)

So, after writing all this nonsense, I think I'm going to tell you about the time I went to summer camp and give you a glimpse into Abigail and I's awkward childhood, and we'll see where that goes.

Once, before entering the 10th grade, Abigail and I got the opportunity to go to summer camp.  We had never been away from home for over a few days, much less a week.  This was quite monumental of our mothers; they never let us sleep over at anyones house for weird reasons, so we had sort of a weird childhood that included each other and the even weirder games we would play:  stripper Barbies, fairy school, hamster potty training, FurSnakes and making cleaning solutions on top of the video cabinet in the play room, 'Baby Feels So Good' commercials, Elvis Mystery Agency, etc.

We also played this game where we were 'Teenagers' but we were really cool (unlike real life) and had lots of cool friends, (yet again, unlike real life) and we would dress up in belly shirts (which was not allowed), wear bright make up (which was also not allowed) and put our hair in pigtails (which was definitely not allowed).  We lived in this apartment unit called 'Snazzy and Shop Apartment Buildings' and we lived as two sisters on our own with no parents there because, Jim Candy, our father, was just that irresponsible.  Our names were Karen (Mine) and Jennifer (Abigail) and we did really cool things.  Abigail's character always had lots of boyfriends and she had a crush on Freddie Printz Jr.  Mine did awesome things like play soccer and the bass guitar.  We would play a lot with my Windows 95 computers' program of Microsoft Publisher and make newsletters and flyers, and write fake notes to each other from our many admirers.  We also had these old dresses we would wear and mine had this belt that I would wear in my hair, and I would chew on it a lot and on reflection I don't know why.

This was all [luckily] in the confines of my grandmothers house, who was rather lively herself and would do things like wear Halloween masks and jump out from the utility room when we thought it was cool to sneak to the kitchen in the middle of the night.

So, the moral of this story is:  Although my family kept Abigail and I from having a semi normal childhood by not letting us spend the night with anyone or not letting us wear our hair in colored clips, they did allow us to have a very imaginative childhood that is probably all the reason why I'm a theatre major today, and where as most girls will probably end up explaining the importance of why you should actually buy a candle that smells like 'Fireside,' we'll end up being awesome for the rest of our lives.  And when I say 'awesome' I mean  'socially awkward.'

I know, it explains a lot.  But, regardless of the fact that I would have to walk the track alone because no one else could see my invisible cat Mish in her purple convertible, I think we always were unwilling to give up who we were.  It's one thing to be cool; it's another to not be you.  So regardless if I was really weird, I was me, and on reflection that was much more important.

ANYWAY, AFTER ALL THAT, lets talk about summer camp, which probably pails in comparison.

So even in the tenth grade, Abigail and I were sadly still playing these weird games, and still kind of secretly weird, although I think the hamster was dead at this point so we weren't making him Christmas presents anymore or having exercise sessions with his trainer Bruno.  Some ladies looked down on our poor little akward souls and were willing to sponsor us to go to 'Camp Rainbow':  An Eastern Star camp that was founded by the Eastern Star organization which is basically a female Masons.

I can't say I know a lot about the Masons, but I knew they were secret and I knew they were religious.  In the mind of a 14 year old, they were super religious and were probably scary conservative and something like, oh, say, Harry Potter, would be considered satanic.  Putting all this knowledge forward, I figured that all the girls at camp would be equally religious, and Abigail and I would be spending much of our nights hiding in a canoe while they tried to find us for campfire exorcisms.

The worst of it was that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince came out the day we left camp.  So, knowing that that purple and green book would soon be in my hands in a weeks time, of course, my excitement could hardly be contained.  And I knew, as soon as I said Lumos they would be on us like a pack of hounds and Abigail and I would be condemned for sure.  I wasn't too excited.

BUT, Abigail wanted to go and I've always had to bend towards her will, so go I must. [She'll kill me for that line; but it's true, so I speak it.]

We were both nervous, but we made a Harry Potter countdown clock anyway, and then we did something very stupid:  we packed ever last one of our 'cool' clothes.  If you can't tell at this point, Abigail and I were never very popular, but we want to be very much, to the point of having self-help books entitled 'How To Be Popular In The 6th Grade.'  We weren't allowed to do what all the 'cool' kids did, and we tried to be popular and friendly, but when you look like this:

Well, you know, there are some things that just don't happen.  So we tried coming as close to as popular as we could get, and that starts with buying the right clothes.  Somehow we managed in the department, and we had a small collection that we were very proud of.  And, of course, when you enter this kind of environment, your hope beyond hope is that the people will have thought you were 'cool' back home, and find you intimidating and be jealous. (How we could ever had been considered 'cool' with a Harry Potter countdown clock, I will never know)

To sleep in, I brought my gym shorts (because these were cool...?) and a shirt my dad made with an iron-on of Sirius Black's wanted poster.  Yeah, that oozes cool.  Sadly, I spent my entire camp experience in these clothes, because, white capris and polo shorts don't quite do in the ropes course.

You know what, you guys are going to be really grateful, because I found a picture of me in those shorts so I can give you a visual cue:

I was 20 pounds heavier here, but I looked like that for my entire camp experience.

We arrived at camp, feeling awesome and rebellious, but it turned out that although we weren't so 'rebellious' as we thought, but we were pretty awesome.  There is something about being in a place where people don't really know you and won't know you forever.  You can put on an air of awesome around them, and they think you're really cool, despite your red gym shorts.  Because, really, if you're going to a camp called Camp Rainbow, chances are, no is really that awesome.

Turns out most of those girls weren't all that religious.  We had an atheist vegetarian among our crew in Cabin 4 and our councilor had every place pierced that isn't seen but is known.  We had the two sisters who brought about three boxes the dill pickle flavoured crackers and never bathed, the girl who didn't shave where she ought to shave, and the two jerk girls (who I oddly friended and liked best - I think they enjoyed my snarky wit) who were probably those girls who sat in the back of the bus and made fun of everyone else who was 'weird' like me, but are quite possibly celebrating Christmas with their toddlers by now.

And then, there was Heather.

I have already stressed quite blatantly that Abigail and I had a very weird childhood, which led into awkward preteen years and onward to our actual teenage years.  But while we were playing 'teenagers' we weren't playing 'teenagers.'  Heather was playing 'teenagers.'  Heather was a skinny girl, with a large chest and hair that was fried flat and was unnaturally died red; she was also the first girl we friended at camp.  Heather was 15, on her way to a license, and was very much leading the life that most 15 year olds lead.  Abigail and I looked up to her in an odd way, because she was cool.  On appearances.

We ate our first meal with her, and she told us the calories for everything.  Although I may have been slightly socially repressed, my mother has always supported that I be who I am even if includes 5 chins and a membership card for the Harry Potter club.  She hated calories, and everything had them.  As Heather told us more about fat and calories, poor Abigail would sniffle a little as she mauled her hotdog, and I would [gently] tell her to shut up and eat it, calories were in everything and they weren't going to kill her.  Heather opened up and said she used to be anorexic, which I actually told her didn't surprise me because she was so calorie aware.  She often wondered how I could eat so much; I told her food was a delicious gift from God and I was skinny enough so it definitely wasn't a problem.  (As you can tell by my gym shorts picture, I probably should have listened to her about calories)

Her parents had bought her a car while she was at camp, and she was very excited.  I think it was a blue and was some sort of sporty brand, and she craved to with know the license plate number.  I've never really cared for any car other than a Volkswagen Beetle, so I didn't really care about her and her car or its license plate number.  She was shocked at my lack of car knowledge, and she would often laugh at how sheltered I was; but according to her we were sheltered on everything.  I often remember her saying, "you two are so sheltered.  Oh, my Gah*, how can you not know that?"

*She was the first person we had ever met who said 'Gah' and it haunted us forever.

So of course, this type of girl did something we did not.  A lot.  As we got closer, and closer (as camp relationships often go), she began to tell us the details of her sex life.  My mother's philosophy was to be open about all things with me; if I asked, she told, honestly, what it was or how it worked, and she even let me watch the 'sexy parts' in Sleeping with the Enemy and True Lies, and by about the 3rd grade, I knew everything.  This may sound like bad parenting to you, but I'm glad she did it because instead of being a questionable and curious 16 year old experimenting with what I didn't know (And God knows I think I have to know everything), I was instead acting out The Wizard of Oz with my Polly Pockets and not caring if I ever experimented with anything.

It probably didn't help that I rode in the back of the school bus either, with its tiny back seat of knowledge where you learn everything about everything.  And with a two hour ride, you find out a lot.

Abigail's mother, on the other hand, didn't see it my mothers way.  Abigail was made to leave the room during the 'sexy parts' and I always got mad when she made me because I thought this was ridiculous.  Abigail never asked about these things (I suppose she wasn't as curious about life as I; or wasn't as honest in her questions) and he mother never told.  She had heard mumblings of things of course, but the details were foggy to her, and I hadn't thought to explain it.  Abigail was sheltered; which is fine, and it does work.

Heather knew everything though.  She told us all about the guy she liked, some fat guy named Peter; she explained what she had done with him and the details of his fabulously chunky body.  She didn't care, because it was basically like this:

Heather:  SEX :} :}

Me:  Ugh, sex.

Abigail:  Sex?! D:

I told her I knew all this, and my lack of enthusiasm astonished her.  After all, it's SEX :} :}  But to me, things like Harry Potter and well, Harry Potter were more important.  I also knew that pre-marital sexing was wrong, and although she knew it was too, "but it's fun."

Being the socially awkward teenager I was who had very grown up ideas on everything, but acted more like I was seven, I took it upon myself to set her straight, and I literally told her this:

"Well, one day, this is what going to happen.  You're going to look back on your life and you're going to say, 'I never really had a childhood because I was too busy having sex, drinking and not eating.'  Because, despite what you think, we are still children.  And you're going to be sad, because not only did you waste your childhood, you also gave your virginity up for some fat boy in high school.  You're not going to be with him forever because all he cares about is what you are giving him; he doesn't care about you.  You're much to pretty and smart to be treated like that, but the worst of it is that you willingly choose this.  So one day, when you are older and you find someone really special, you'll say, 'I remember that retarded, sheltered, weird girl at camp and I thought she was really stupid, but it turns out she was right."

She took a pause and solemnly said, "I hope you're wrong."

But I shook my head and said, "I know I'm not."

She left, and in the meantime I had to attend to something else.  I looked over and poor Abigail was shaking and crying at her newfound knowledge and I had to hold her while she cried; which I hate that cuddling and comforting upset people thing, but I put that aside and did it.  I gently explained everything else she hasn't known, and she begged that we go home.  I told her we couldn't; we still had four days and she could last.  She still called her mom and begged, and I called my mom and told her what happened and of course my mom told her to suck it up and go forth with camp.

Heather, on the other hand really wanted to get home to see her car and her fat not-boyfriend's bed, so she made up some excuse to her mother so she would come and pick her up; so Abigail and I were left w/o her.  In her absence we made some great friends (sort of).  Lots of fun stuff happened (all in my gym shorts.) and we watched Gremlins on a rainy day.

So the point of this blog?  Ah, it's about 2 o'clock right now and I just want sleep.  Basically, I was raised to be a genius, and although I'm socially awkward and weird, I will not end up like Heather.  And at the end of day, girls who are like that are really insecure within themselves and they are looking for something and someone to fulfill them, and a boy will do that, but often at a price.

So go ahead and work at Yankee Candle and have a man to make you feel complete.  Thank God I am me and I do weird things and I know who I am.  And as for fulfillment, I think I'll keep with God and Harry Potter.

And here is a picture of me in some ivy. I want you to look at my face and feel the wisdom that oozes from it.

-Me.