Some things.

Dear Shy Awkward Girl In My English Class Who Isn't Sure Who Her Friends Are,

I am so honored that you read my blog. To be frank, I'm not sure who you are. But if you want to tell me who you are, that would be wonderful - because I want to be your friend. Then again, if you would like to remain anonymous, that is your choice.

There are some things I would like you to know: Being shy and awkward is beautiful. One of my best friends, Bianca, claims to be "painfully shy and socially awkward." I think she is one of the most lovely people alive. I, too, am awkward. And I have embraced that. It's fine! In fact, it's more than fine to be awkward, it's wonderful.

Second, you will find friends in unusual places. Not to mention, unusual friends. I've been in your situation, and I understand that it is one of the hardest places an adolescent girl can find herself. Don't change yourself. People you love will come into your life. They will love you and care for you and respect you. Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, and people who will stand with you will climb into your heart.

You are very smart; you are beautiful in every single way.

Empower yourself.

All my love, Addy

P.S. Dear Square-sush: so glad you found my blog. xoxx, Addy.

Happy Christmas, Harry!

It doesn't quite feel like Christmas around here. I mean, everyone's overjoyed and kind and spreading the spirit of the season, but it came so fast. Plus, the grass outside of my house is green as can be. But it doesn't really matter, because it's been such a beautiful day anyway! I got a ukulele (I've learned probably twenty songs since this morning, too) and a bunch of notebooks. Santa obviously knows I have an odd inkling to write constantly. I even got a journal for insomniacs - which is very fitting, on account of I am an insomniac who loves to journal. Huzzah. I sketched a picture of Ron in his maroon "R" sweater (back in the good old days when Mrs. Weasley sent all of her children sweaters for Christmas) shouting "Happy Christmas, Harry!" I signed it saying, "Happy Christmas from the Harry Potter nerd living amongst you." No one in my entire family has ever read Harry Potter except for me. Sad, isn't it? How was your Christmas? As smashing as mine? I hope it was. You certainly deserve it.

"Dwell in possibility."

All my love and Christmas wishes, Addy

Weird things have been happening.

But it's fine.

Honey, let's play hooky cause it snowed last night.

And suddenly I am the happiest person I know.

2010 has been my year. I lost myself and then found myself once more in the most beautiful place. I had the most beautiful day that I have had in a very long time.

And I had this whole long post planned out about why I am so happy, but it comes down to this:

There is a higher power, and that higher power has a plan for each and every one of us. There is a higher power. And most of the time that higher power is successful at confusing me. But it has a plan. And I am going to let it all be.

Well, that and the fact that I feel skinny and eloquent and was introduced as "one of the best young journalists I've ever met" today. And that I went to a fantastic wedding. (Go Mckenzie!!) There was even a photo booth there. And Mallory exists and shares her secrets with me. And I made a new friend and he is very, very funny and makes me laugh so hard that I cry. And it is almost Christmas. And my nana brought me sweaters. And I spent nearly half and hour of English class chatting with my friend, Hunter Wilson, about why six hundred sixty six billion, three hundred and twelve million, four hundred thirty seven thousand, one hundred and eleven (or, any number, for that matter) to the power of zero is always one.

We're that cool.

Go.

All my love, Addy.

P.S. I don't have my phone. But my house phone is always able to be called. Call me, pretty please. (That means you, Mallory. We have more secret sharing to do.)

P.P.S. Collin & Kaitlyn - (a) would you please just kiss and admit to being in love with each other? And, (b) tell Tim Thompson to stop freaking out. His longboard is in the back of my car.

P.P.P.S. Go take my poll please.

My apologies.

Dear Anonymous Commenter Who Was Offended By My Marching Band Comment:

Well, whoever you are, you go to my school. Would you like to know a story? Once, I was in love with the marching band. The drumline. Or, to be more specific, a drummer. But it didn't work out and I got my heart broken.

I've seen field shows by AF's marching band a thousand times. They're fantastic. Am I instantly in love? No. I don't even believe in instant love. I sort of don't even believe in love. (That's a total lie. I certainly believe in love. I'm just scared to death by it.) No, I did not fall instantly in love with that boy at the dance. I've known him for several months and loved him slowly since.

I'm terribly sorry. I know AF's marching band is fantastic and I am terribly sorry to offend you. I didn't mean it. It was a generalization that I put in for literary purposes. In normal high schools (but what is normal, even?), marching band isn't worshipped.

But, at the end of the day, it's sometimes nice to watch your football team win. Or your basketball team.

So, please excuse my stereotypical generalization. It was for literary use only (much like hyperboles).

Forgive me?

All my love, Addy.

P.S. Do I know you in real life?

I use too many infinitives but I don't actually care cause it really was the most perfect thing that has ever happened.

My English teacher (the one I used to hate, but now we're randomly best friends) told me I used too many infinitives: "This is my most favorite poem ever!" "It was the best thing that has ever happened to me!" "Today is the worst day of my entire life!" "I love this day more than I love any other day that has ever, ever occurred!!" And he's right. But let me clarify, when I say that last night was the most perfect thing that has ever happened to me, I honestly mean:

last night was the most perfect thing that has ever happened to me.

(a) I finished The Princess Bride, (b) I had a violin recital and I played rather well, (c) my high school basketball team actually won - not to mention they're rated number 3 in the state - which is exciting because my high school sucks at everything except marching band and it doesn't matter how great your marching band is, everyone still pretty much hates marching band, (d) there was a dance afterwards, which is way better than a basketball game, and I love anywhere with loud music, minimal lighting, and lots of people, (e) Perfect Boy Whom I Love happened to make an appearance at said dance.

Let's dwell on (e), shall we? His friend claims that he has never, in 17 years, busted a move. I would have to believe that. He's just that way. So after about an hour of his awkward standing there (far enough away from front/center to not get caught and suffocated, but not too far away from front/center so that he looked desperate) with his arms crossed while everything happened around him, a slow song started and I walked up. "You are the most awkward person I have ever met in my entire life." (Again, unnecessary use of infinitives.) And he mumbled something awkward in response. "Do you even know how to dance?" I asked. (More awkward mumbling. To be honest it probably wasn't even too mumbly, the music was just terribly loud, but he didn't seem to tap into that.) Long story short, we danced. And I taught him to waltz. And he is a terrible, terrible dancer and kept stepping on my feet and being terrible at dancing, but it was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. (Truthful use of infinitives - not counting the things like being born and having a nice family and stuff.)

And I am happy. I have changed so much. I know I keep saying that, but it's just so true. A year ago, I wouldn't have even befriended him, because I was for sure too cool for people who were openly intelligent (a.k.a. Nerds) and I certainly wouldn't have spent the entire dance talking about books and admitting to dancing in the grocery store. And I wouldn't have fallen in love with him in the first place. But I have embraced my ridiculous awkwardness and I feel more beautiful than I have felt in a very long time.

Don't admit to being a stalker.

All my love, Addy

Post script: I saw Kaitlyn this morning and Avery yesterday afternoon. It was more than lovely. And, Katie, would you please call me? I know you're home and I know you're reading this and I miss you terribly a lot.

This post is all truth. For the most part.

In case you are the type who is curious, I just thought I would clarify: Perfect Boy Whom I Love, is, in fact, perfect. The day he was born, the doctors were so taken aback by his beauty and intelligence and smashing sense of style (he began dressing himself in the womb, so don't even try and fight me on this one) that they called in a group of scientists (a Frenchman, an American, the Queen of England (she was a scientist in her past life), the Pope (his case is the same), a German, an Italian, and a Russian). They gave him scores. The scores were based upon attractiveness, sense of style, ACT score, ability to time travel, and amount of time spent with his nose in a book/newspaper/the like. Frenchman: 10.00. American: 10.00. Queen: 10.01 (she's the Queen, so she's allowed to do that). The Pope: 10.01 (his case is the same). The German: 10.00. The Italian: 10.00. The Russian: 08.52. (They discarded the Russians score. It was so obviously biased.) Eventually, they came to the agreement that, although he seemed perfect currently, they could not actually proclaim him The Most Perfect Boy Ever To Grace Our Humble Planet until he smiled. So, the entire team of scientists (minus the Queen (she had a country to watch over), The Pope (he died - of natural causes, so don't worry), and the Russian (no one liked him; he was too obviously biased - he could've at least hid it better)) followed him around until he smiled his first genuine smile. It was in the third grade. They all cried, on account of, he was obviously The Most Perfect Boy Ever To Grace Our Humble Planet.

This post was all truth. Except for the part I made up.

Put dirtballs in your pocket and take off both your shoes.

All my love, Addy

Notes from myself.

Every step I took today. Every step I took was accompanied by: "You are not funny. You are not pretty. You are not young anymore. You are not good enough. You do not have the enthusiasm for life that you used to. You do not get good grades. You do not have any friends. You not enough for anyone - let alone good enough for yourself," the footsteps said. My parents asked me why I was so angry. I cried. "I am not proud of myself anymore." Step. "You are not funny." Step. "You are not pretty." Step. "You are fat." Step. "You suck." Step. "You are a terrible person." FALSE.

I am me. I am me and I am good enough. I am me and I am good enough and I do not need your approval.

Stay pretty. (You already are.)

All my love, Addy

Hopeless cases and funny, funny stories.

He is tall, certainly not dark, but very, very handsome. Sometimes I wonder what he would do if I just walked up and kissed him. He'd probably make some sarcastic comment and walk away. I wouldn't regret it in the slightest. I'm a hopeless case. What're you planning to do about it? I'm feeling empty of good post ideas. I felt like I could possibly write about Perfect Boy Whom I Love, but then I started to freak out when I remembered that the entire internet can read what I write, not to mention my blog was published in the school newspaper (thanks, Liz) last month and now, if my entire high school wants to read my soul, they can just open up the school paper for directions to my soul-house. But I wrote about him anyway. (I learned the other day that it is "anyway" not "anyways." Thanks for making me sound much more intelligent, my dear Kaitlyn.) I feel like Scott Pilgrim: "I was thinking about asking you out but then I realized how stupid that sounded. So do you want to go out sometime?" Ha.

Here's a funny story: When I was little, my parents used to ground me from my books. They still do. It's fine.

Here's another funny story: In Human Biology and Bioethics, there are two hispanic kids who sit in the back if the class and never talk. Today, in class, we were watching the news, when some pictures of a four guys who are at the head of an auto theft ring came up on the screen. Boy one proclaimed loudly to boy two: "Hey, we know that guy!" and pointed at the screen. Boy two replied, "Hey! Yeah, we do!" The class absolutely lost it. It was positively hysterical.

Also, yesterday I went to the library. I checked out The Road by Cormic McCarthy and The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. Then the librarian invited me to join book club. (I did, obviously, on account of, I LOVE BOOKS!!) Then I found out we had a poetry club. I joined. We discussed one of my poems. I love poetry club! Then, my favorite English teacher lent me The Princess Bride by William Goldman. (Fun fact: The Princess Bride happens to be Perfect Boy Whom I Love's favorite book.) I have lots of books. Plus, I'm in book club and poetry club and I am terribly, terribly thrilled.

Maybe you should kiss someone nice. Or lick a rock. Or both.

All my love, Addy