Awkward me.

I've realized recently how much I've changed. I never used to find myself in awkward moments. I had it all down. I was killer. I was cool. I always knew what to say. Or something. But recently I've realized something: I am an awkward person. With people I am close to, I'm not so bad... But with strangers, I create the most awkward moments. I ask awkward questions. I don't answer questions. I look at them way too long. I stare at people in the eyeballs for excessive amounts of time and it makes them feel terribly uncomfortable. I give people "love pats." I sing in public places. I dance alone. I sing and dance simultaneously in public places. I am awkward enough to walk up to strangers and say, "You don't know me. But you're really attractive. Should we get married?" (Yes, I've actually done that. More than once.) I say the wrong thing at the right time. I say the right thing at the wrong time. I say wrong thing and the wrong time. Mostly, I think the next time I introduce myself (or, more likely, someone else introduces me, on account of I seem to be forgetting introductions lately and simply jumping straight into one of the said awkward things) I'll just say:

"Sup. I'm awkward."

At the same time, though, I'm realizing how much I enjoy my life currently. Instead of running around with people that have always been way too cool for me and liking boys who are absolute jerks underneath their attractive features, athletic ability, and sport shorts, I have been spending time with people that I genuinely enjoy. People that I'm not too awkward with. People I like. People who love to go sweater shopping and miss me when I'm not around. People who bake things. People who microwave tin foil.(People who love Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World.) People who are attractive in a way that is quirky and a little bit weird. But awesome. And I am happy. Happy and, of course, awkward. I am awkward enough to ask the guest in human bio if he believes in aliens. And I am awkward enough to whisper, "Yes," in an an ultra-creepy voice when he says, "I'm not sure. Do you?"

Together, we can take over the whole world.

All my love, Addy.

Post script: Dear Avery: I am sorry for thinking you were stupid for being obsessed with Scott Pilgrim. Turns out it actually is the greatest movie ever, maybe. My apologies. Love, me.

Post post script: "This one's for the guy on the balcony that keeps yelling. It's called, 'We Hate You, Please Die.'" "Sweet. I love this song."

Post post post script: "I mean, did you really see a future with this girl?" "Like... With jetpacks."

Single Awareness Day and No Shave November

I was in the eighth grade when I first heard the term, "Single Awareness Day" in reference to Valentines Day. It was said with a voice full of desperation and sadness and, for a moment, I was filled with utter pity for the poor girl. But I am here to prove her wrong! Single Awareness Day is not, in fact, a bad thing! Huzzah! Single Awareness Day is the one day a year that you get to be acutely aware of your single-dom and celebrate that! It is a day for looking ugly and not having to worry. It is a day for singing songs at the top of your lungs in whatever key you like and not caring the slightest bit, on account of, you have no significant other to impress! And then there is No Shave November. It's sort of like Single Awareness Day (a.k.a. St. Valentines Day) but instead of lasting for only one day: It lasts for thirty days! What?! How. Awesome. I have not shaved my legs for 26 days. And I feel liberated. Every time I look at my legs (which are now covered in enough hair to make an expensive fur coat) I think, "Ahh! I feel good! I feel single! I feel free!" So stop complaining and stop shaving your legs. You rock.

Join the feminist movement.

All my love, Addy.

Post script: This is post number 111. Make a wish.

Post post script: Last night I discovered a pair of moccasins in my Nana's house. I was thrilled. I borrowed them. Sort of without asking.

The problem here.

Is it odd that I remember temperatures? Well, I do. The coldest weather I have ever ran outside in is 18 degrees. Today, I ran in twenty degree weather. I was disappointed. On a separate note, I feel the need to tell all of you some things that I am grateful for.

1. Harry Potter.

2. Attractive boys.

3. Swedish fish.

4. Tofu.

5. My water bottle.

6. That there are 4 Saturdays this week.

7. The fact that the number 9 is fun to write.

8. 11:11.

9. You.

10. Red lipstick.

11. Good shoes.

12. Music in other languages. Like French or Yiddish maybe.

Also, I am a bit bitter about this "blizzard" on account of I can see all of my grass right now.

Happiest Thanksgiving.

All my love, Addy

The worst day of my life.

This day is the worst day of my life. It's fine. Except for it's not, on account of the following facts:
1.) My math test was ridiculously hard.

1b.) I probably failed.

2.) My dear friend Sarah is moving to Virginia.

3.) I am grounded until my grades = 3.5 cumulative.

3b.) I am grounded forever, probably.

4.) Thanksgiving makes me fat-ish.

5.) I love a boy I cannot love.

5b.) Not to mention, I also still love that other boy.

Okay, it actually is sort of fine. My life isn't bad. My life isn't actually that bad on account of the following facts:

1.) I don't think I failed my French quiz.

2.) This week is only two days long.

3.) Being grounded is an excuse to read lots and lots of fat, fat coffee table books.
3b.) Like the time I was grounded and read all seven Harry Potter books in one week. It's happens.
4.) I have dance tonight.

5.) The other boy told me I have a cute laugh and complemented my singing voice. And then we sang a song.

5b.) My mind has been successfully occupied replying that scene for several days.

6.) I am becoming better friends with the funniest boy in the world named Hunter Wilson.

Look. More reasons to be happy about my life than sad about it. Even though today is the worst day of all my other days I have lived. It's fine.

Stop making "to do" lists.

All my love, Addy

P.S. I desperately need a new dream catcher, considering I have had the most terrible dreams lately. Huzzah.

You're just as sane as I am.

I figured it out! I figured it out! I have, more than once, been compared to Luna (Loony) Lovegood. I take that as a complement. I know my last post was full of back and forths between Herminone and Neville, but, alas, I have now realized, that I am much more like Luna Lovegood than anyone else. I'm thrilled.

On a seperate note: everyone knows who I love, no? Well, I now love two boys. I feel like a rebel! Call my house (I got my phone taken) if you want to know who it is. Ha! (Katie. You know. Don't tell Zack.) I sung a duet with him while he played the guitar. He complemented my voice. He has nice eyelashes and funny sweaters. Maybe we'll love each other one day. Huh.

You're just as sane as I am.

All my love, Addy.

Neville.

Let's be honest here: I'm a total nerd. I like to think of myself as like, a Hermione-ish nerd - with loads of intelligence and a nice body, too, who boys sometimes think about in class when they are bored. But, of course, I'm probably a bit more like Neville - only sometimes smart with a round-ish body, who is, though not entirely the most intelligent, entirely the nerdiest. But it's okay. I like who I am. This is the first year I've tapped into that incredible nerdiness and stopped being afraid of being good at math and staying at home on Friday nights to do homework. I'm a nerd who likes vintage clothing and novels fat enough to be coffee tables and stays up into the late hours of the night to read those fat, fat, coffee table novels. I'm a nerd who likes gorgeous nerdy boys who wear ties and are very good at math. I'm a nerd who likes her parents way more than a normal high schooler should. I'm a nerd who worries about her future at a prestigious university probably every other minute and is very upset about getting a 3.6 this term. I'm a nerd who wears red lipstick in public places and does yoga and uses adverbs correctly. I'm a nerd who adores the word "onomatopoeia" and once even used the word "antidisestablishmentarianism" in a conversation - correctly, mind you. I'm a nerd who sometimes says, "It's okay that I am sad, for it is the fault of the dementors and it is perfectly fine to eat lots of chocolate." I'm a nerd who would consider Liesel Meminger one of my best friends and I bawled compulsively while reading the last fifty pages of The Book Thief. I am a nerd who feels intimidated by cheerleaders and football players and other children who use commas incorrectly and say "haha" a lot and listen to crappy rap. I am a nerd who finds inherent joy in t-shirts that say things like "Funner - gooder than just plain fun" or shirts that have an apothem on a graph saying, "Can't touch this!" or shirts that have a melting ice cube proclaiming, "Solid, liquid, gas... They all matter!" I am a nerd who has a definite problem with correcting others grammar and spelling and letting them know that it is "their" not "there." I am a nerd who likes to speak in a fake British accent and just learned the word "vernacular" and have been waiting to use it ever since. I am a nerd - or, as my nerdy little sister would say,

Never

Ending

Radical

Dude.

Do you think I can be Hermione? Because I like her the best and I don't think I'm quite too rotund nor am I a man. And I don't plan on teaching school when I grow old. And I like books and have lots of hair and sometimes have to teach things to my friends when they don't listen in class or don't do their homework. I'd like to be Hermione.

I am a nerd and I am happy.

Write in cursive sometime.

All my love, Addy.

Post script: NEW WORD ALERT: petrichor (noun) meaning, "the scent of rain on the earth after a dry spell." I nearly cried when I learned this one.

The best thing anybody ever informed me of.

I was sitting on a couch at a family reunion with my nana and my sister. Whatever the original conversation was, I will never remember. But, alas, it is terribly unimportant. It is what someone said later that changed my life.

"Sometimes it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission."

I was filled with a sudden lightness. It was the most liberating thing anyone had ever thought of in the entire history of the world. I was thrilled. Never have I been so overjoyed about my future. It was as if my entire future - all the things I would do, the boys I would kiss, the tattoos I would have tattooed, the fences I would hop, the places I would go - flashed before my very eyes. My course was set. And I took it to heart. The next morning, I got into my nana's make-up case and did my make-up. When she informed me I was much too young for such frivolousness, I simply asked for forgiveness, rather than having asked for permission and hour or so earlier. Needless to say, I looked positively smashing in family pictures later that day. In relation to my bucket list: life is much too short. I feel the need to live before I die. And sometimes, I just know that asking for permission will only stagger the ever-so-important process. For example, if, per say, one wanted to swing on the swings at the private school, it would be simply too much work to ask permission (not to mention one already knows the answer). It is postively better for one to simply trudge across the fields, enter the back way, hopping the fence, and swing until one's heart is content. (Not that I have ever done that.) Now, don't go robbing a bank and blame it on me, saying you were planning on asking for forgiveness. That is wrong. But, using the common sense you were blessed with, GO LIVE YOUR LIFE. It is time we stopped letting others disern our fates! Huzzah! (This would be the point where someone should probably yell "FOR NARNIA!")

Follow your dreams.

All my love, Addy.

Confessions of a people watcher.

I watch people. Everywhere. We went to get ice cream yesterday and I was enthralled.

I watched, curiously, as four teenagers bought ice cream and sat down.

I studied the three girls in cheer sweats filling their cups.

I commented on the family that walked in.

Harli and Will thought it was funny. They think I'm odd, with my wild obsession with people. But aren't people thrilling for you? Or is it just me? Take, for example, the four teenagers. I eventually concluded they were on an awkward first date. The girls had done their hair and makeup; the boys looking freshly showered and slightly nervous... There's so much to wonder about! There was the girl in the shirt made of material that looked exactly like Minnie Mouse's dress. Do you think her parents love each other? Do you think she loves her parents? Do you think she likes the boy she was with? Where did she get that top? Did she steal it from Minnie? Do you think she'd lend that top to me? What about the boy she was with? Does he like books? Does he like her? What does he think of her shirt? As most people know, I live happily in my own little world. And most of that world is positively consumed with watching and wondering. I'm curious. I want to walk up and ask. I want to know these people personally. I want to walk up and say, "Do your parents love each other? Do you love her parents? Would you lend me that top?" But, of course, everyone would think, "Creepist!!" And the police would probably come and steal me away after the girl in the Minnie Mouse shirt filled a restraining order against me. I did - for the most part - spend the ice cream excursion encircled in social norm and general formality to strangers.

But, on my way out the door, we passed the four awkward-first-daters. They were clapping like Dumbledore. And I positively could not resist a single moment longer. I leaned into the table - wearing my rainboots and my favorite sweater and bright red lipstick, saying, "I like Dumbledore, too." I bit my tongue before asking to borrow her Minnie Mouse top.

Learn to say, "I love you" more often.

All my love, Addy.

Secrets.

Secret: I like court TV.

Secret: I come across as a darkly sarcastic cynic. I'm really only an optimist hiding behind my sarcastic remarks and my buns on top of my head.

Secret: I am not impressed with my grades.

Secret: I stress about things that I should leave behind.

Secret: I've never kissed anyone.

Secret: I'm a procrastinator.

Secret: I'm a pretty good liar.

Secret: I don't enjoy lying. Even if I am really, really good at it, I hate doing it. It eats away at me.

Secret: I am a guilty sinner.

Secret: I don't pray as often as I should.

Secret: I generally have ulterior motives for doing the things that I do - good or bad.

Secret: I wear my cheap jeggings way more often than I would like to admit.

Secret: I don't know what I am going to do with myself when I move out.

Secret: I still hate running. Even after nearly two years of consistent runs. I've run in 18 degree weather, snow eating away at my skin. I've run in 108 degree whether along the beach and stopped to watch dolphins. I still hate it.

Secret: I care. About everything. Everything. Even when I put on the great facade of "I'm Addy. I'm cool and collected and carefree." I'm actually far from cool, an absolute mess, and hardly carefree.

Secret: I covet Bianca's collection of sweaters.

Secret: I worry about my future every day.

Secret: I am happy about the changes.

Secret: I am happy about most things. I am, after all, an optimist.

What are your secrets? Will you comment and tell me a few?

Go running.

All my love, Addy.

On the Virtues of Hayley, Noah, and Tanner.

This one's for you, guys.

Our relationship is actually rather funny, seeing as it spawned from spending too much time with my childhood friend, Harli. The first time I texted Hayley, it was after a day at the pool with Makayla and Harli and Hayley. Hayles and Makayla got in a competition to see who could stay in the icy cold pool longest, and, after and agreement that it was, in fact, a tie, Hayley got out of the pool. "I win!!" cried Makayla. And then Hayley proceeded to scream at Makayla for the better part of an hour about how they agreed it was a tie while Harli and I sat and laughed so terribly hard. (Noah: If you were not aware of how competitive Hayley is, I would break up with her now.) After that all settled down, Hayley read aloud to all of us from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. She was thrilled to read Harry Potter, because guess what, she'd been grounded from Harry Potter books at home for the last couple weeks. And we've chatted nearly every day since. We talk about books and boys and school and music and anything else we like. Plus, we both like words. We're very funny. And we're soul sisters.

Once, I liked Tanner. As in, like liked him. It was funny. Not that Tanner isn't gorgeous and funny and attractive, but I just think it's funny. Tanner is a very talented musician. Plus, he has great hair. Once, we tried to have a Harry Potter movie marathon (we only ended up watching the first movie) and I walked into the Mitchell's front room wearing my True Religions I had gotten for Christmas that year. Tanner exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! I think we're wearing the same jeans." Never have I laughed so hard. But don't worry. Even though I just made it sound like he's gay, he's not. Tanner kissed someone once. It was a girl. I think her name was Laura or Laurie or something like that. It was very recent, too. Perhaps they kissed in the rain. Or maybe beneath a tree. It was probably very romantic. And I'm sure Tan's a very good kisser.

And then there's Noah... Well. Once, Noah nicknamed me "Peach" at Harli and Makayla's twelfth birthday party at Jump On It. And that was the last time I saw him until the Harry Potter marathon. Over that space of two years, he hit puberty and grew some sort of (oddly attractive) mullet. And I was convinced I was in love with him. Too bad he was perfect for Hayley and Hayley was perfect for him and I was perfect for somebody else who's name has already been broadcasted across the internet one too many times. Anyway. Freshman year Noah had a funeral for his mullet. They cried and burnt the hair. (Didn't that smell absolutely terrible?) Sometimes, in awkward moments, I say, "I have a friend who had a funeral for his mullet once..." And tell the story of Noah's Mullet Funeral. And everybody laughs. Noah kicks butt at soccer. And, our birthdays are twins. Yay.

Mostly, I'm so glad I've randomly become friends with these guys. What can I say? They're the greatest kids ever.

Finally, I need you guys to read this post. [Edit: is it not pulling it up for you? Just go into the January bit and read "I'm in a mood"] It's from back in January and it's some of my worst writing ever. I hate it. I sound like a melodramatic thirteen year old. But it's about the Harry Potter marathon back in January that I keep mentioning. I met Ollie there. Me and Ollie are married now. (Okay, that was a total lie. I haven't spoken to him since. I did pet his hair once.)

Go stand in an icy cold pool, kiss Laura/Laurie/Lacey/Lamb under trees, and grow a mullet.

All my love, Addy.

I have lots of talents.

I'm learning something really important. It's okay to like myself just the way I am. Because I have many talents.

1.) I am really good at basing things on emotion instead of actual facts.

2.) I am good at making really ugly faces for pictures.

3.) I am good at not doing my hair.

4.) I am good at looking presentable with minimal makeup.

5.) I am great at not getting up on time.

6.) I am good at making darkly sarcastic remarks at terribly inappropriate times.

7.) I rock at sleeping during first period.

8.) I'm a fantastic procrastinator.

9.) I can pull off red lipstick. (I think.)

10.) I am good at blogging (right?).

11.) I rarely miss 11:11.

12.) I have a nice laugh.

13.) I am smart.

14.) My voice isn't half bad.

15.) I rock at being late for things.

16.) I can stare at him at not even notice I am doing so for several minutes at a time.

17.) I have very loopy handwriting. Someone even once said that it matches my mind. Thanks.

Wish on stars. And even airplanes.

All my love, Addy.

I am me.

And perhaps I like you.

I am scared of something.

It's called waking up one morning and being old. Like, very old. Like, thirty or something.... Anyway. I'm very scared of waking up one morning and being old and thinking, "I haven't done anything with my life." And therefore, I am going to start a bucket list. I would invite all of you to join me - please. But that's your choice. (Bi, Kat, Ave, Hayles, and Kaitlyn, you have no choice. You are just required to do a lot of these things with me.) Well. Today is my hundredth post! Huzzah. I'm very happy with the way this little blog has turned out, aren't you? Nonetheless, ladies and gentlemen. The Bucket List (or part of it at least):

1. Be on Wheel of Fortune, The Price is Right, Jeopardy or some funny game show like that.

2. Learn to yodel.

3. Go to Asia.

4. Go to Europe.

5. Eat something terrible tasting that I can brag about for a while.

6. Kiss on the first date.

7. Attend Midnight Mass.

8. Substitute a high school class.

8b. Be the coolest sub they've ever had.

9. Perform on Broadway.

10. Graduate from high school.

11. Throw a giant 11/11/11 party.

12. Be on a late-night talk show.

13. Get into a great college back east.

13b. Graduate from that college.

14. Get my drivers licence.

15. Meet a celebrity.

15b. And also possibly pet their hair.

15c. Unless that'll get me a restraining order.

16. Dye my hair.

17. Get a really cool job with bragging rights.

18. Pretend to be a man for an entire day.

19. Speak with a British accent for several days in succession.

20. Go on a huge shopping spree.

21. Pull an all-nighter on a school night.

22. Ask a stranger on a date.

23. Accept a dare.

24. Be on the news.
24b. People aren't only on the news because they do bad stuff like rob old ladies, okay?

25. Have a song I sing on Itunes.

26. See a million or so of my favorite musicians in concert.

27. Reject the boy every girl is dying for.
28. Wear stilettos where they aren't usually worn.

29. Live alone.

29b. In the coolest apartment/condo/house ever to be.

30. Have a fantastic photoshoot with people I love.

31. Buy a wedding gown.

31b. Get married.

31c. And try not to get divorced.

32. Ride in an actual train.

32b. Trax so does not count.

33. Dance solo with a professional company.

34. Be voted "Best Dressed."

35. Sleep past noon.

36. Crash a wedding.

37. Get a tattoo.
38. Get my typewriter fixed.

39. Play a game of quidditch.

39b. Because quidditch is now a real, actual sport. I promise you. Here's the link. npr.org even said so. They're very reliable. I'm being totally serious here.

I think that's sufficient for now. Who's joining me?

Go play quidditch.

All my love, Addy.

(Comment and tell me which numbers you're joining me for. We start now.)

Boys will be boys.

It's fine.

Sometimes I'm like, "Waaaah! I have the worst life ever!" And then other times I'm all, "My life is the best life of all the lives! Yayy!" And then I feel bipolar. It's fine.

Also, last night, I danced with my headphones in - a full on dance, with leaps and turns and pointed toes and all that jazz - on a sidewalk in Salt Lake City. People looked at me weird. It's fine.

Cookies with raisins in them are mostly only salads.

All my love, Addy

This is me. That's all.

My name is Addy.

I like paintbrush pens, topknot ballerina buns, and live music. I enjoy books.

I detest feeling underdressed.

I'm rather a fan of Vogue magazine. I'd wear stilettos every day if that was at all practical.

I believe that the semi-colon is the dark horse of punctuation; we should use it more often. I text too much and then complain about my dislike of texting. I like red lipstick, Cormic McCarthy, wishing on clocks, and wearing dresses. I appreciate British humor, British playwrights, and British accents. Sarcasm is a friend of mine. I love my purse, poetry, and spiral bound notebooks.

I'm a stronger girl than I give myself credit for; I underestimate myself.

I'm a performer - I dance dances, sing songs, and enjoy Shakespeare rather a lot. I'm an oldest child, but much less responsible than my sister just younger than I. I have common sense, though I choose not to use it. I'm a night owl, and certainly not a morning person. I like caffeine.

I own seven pairs of jeans, though I usually wear the cheapest, comfiest pair. I don't love makeup - but at the same time, I do. I fascinated by cat eye eyeliner and glitter mascara.

I like to lie on the floor and listen to classical music while reading fat novels. It makes me feel alive.

I am better than I used to be.

Here.

I don't have much to say. Here. Eat up some pictures I spent the last hour or so collecting. I have way too many. Which one is your favorite?

So glide away on soapy heels and promise not to promise anymore.

Hello, November. I am different this year.

It's a nice thought, if you think about it. How have you changed since last November? Have you changed since last November? "Why November?" you ask. I'll tell you why November. "Cause it's November right this moment." That's what I'd say. Have you grown? Shrunk? Cried more? Less?

I, for one, have grown in some ways. I have simply grown as a person. Matured? Well, I wouldn't use the word "matured" maybe... Anyway. I'm smarter. Brighter. And, in a funny way, younger. I'm a little more alive than I was a year ago. One year ago I was starting ninth grade. I don't know. It was... It just was. This year has taken growing and adapting and being and existing, and more than all of that, thriving. I had a few dark patches over the last year, but look at me now. I had to head off to a new school (which brought upon more tears than I've ever cried over any three consistent weeks maybe ever) (except possibly the first three weeks of my life) (my mom says I cried a lot when I was a newborn). But look! Look at me now! I am happy. I am classy. I am alive. As a dancer, I've grown incredibly. I've had strangers come up to me after a performance and tell me how lovely I am as a dancer. I've had a moment or two where I've been a little down on myself, but not anymore. I am happy and I am content and I am alive. I've made so many new friends since last November. I'm in love. I'm alive. I'm not afriad. I sleep less - and sometimes more. I am a little more out there, a little less afraid. I took away the nightlight (I'm a little more mature, I guess). My voice has matured and I've sung a few pieces that you wouldn't believe. I'm just happy. I'm so comfortable with who I am now. I am not afraid to not wear makeup to school (I didn't today). I am not afraid to talk to "cool people." I am happy to wear my hair on top of my head and run around like a wild thing.

Mostly, I'm at peace. I'm at peace with everything out there. And I'm happy. I'm a wild thing.

Stop simply existing.

All my life, Addy