A little less Titus.

Loving someone doesn't mean you have to love everything they do every second of life. Being best friends with someone doesn't mean that you have to want to talk to them every second and that you can't ever be annoyed with them or sometimes hate the people they associate with. Being a family isn't about never disagreeing or making mistakes.


It's about something so much bigger. Well, actually, I take that back. It's about something smaller.


It's about the way they smell; it's about recognizing that smell and knowing that when you smell it, you're home and you're safe and you've made it. It's about the way they shape the letter "u" and how you'd recognize that handwriting anywhere. It's about that smirk they wear when they are composing some sort of witty retort to what you're saying long before you've finished saying it. It's about hats. It's about misty-eyed laugher. It's about their fear of thunderstorms. It's about the dinner discussions. It's about Mondays. It's about cyber-stalking; it's about real-life stalking. It's about Legally Blonde the Musical. It's about how they have so many books that they can't even sleep on their own bed. It's about fake emails and bunheads and The Boy Book. It's about shouting "Drop dead!" too much. It's about singing "First Day of My Life" in a big crowd of people. It's about having secrets. It's about helping clean up the messes you've made together. It's about hair ruffles.


It's about the way they shape their words and the way your hearts beat together like a song and knowing that even though they might bother you sometimes or make you feel immensely jealous or incredibly small, that that doesn't matter at all. 


XXX.
All my love,
Addy

The Unfortunate Truth

So here we are, business as usual; pretending to be fantastic when we're really just sitting around questioning our self-worth.

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.

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.

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

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Can someone say, "PERFECTION"?

Because that would be the only way to describe how these last days have been. Namely yesterday. It was simply the most perfect day that ever occurred. For one, it was pre-Halloween. I enjoy Halloween. I didn't dress up for school. It just didn't quite feel right, you know? Cause it wasn't real Halloween. I'll probably dress up as a witch or a cat or something today, even though it's still pre-Halloween.

Anyway. I did wear my favorite jeggings and my mom's old cheer sweater and my maroon-ish Vans and it was cool. Some very funny boys at my school started a ping-pong tournament without a table, but rather using a hallway during lunch break. They were probably the three most entertaining boys that I have ever discovered. (They even wore short shorts, tall socks, and sweat bands.) Obviously, not everyone loved the ping-pong game as much as I, and it did cause a few fiascoes and swear words to be spewn when grouchy high school students were asked to "please respect the game" and "stay close to the edge of the hallway, please."

I also then learned that Lone Peak had an early afternoon football game right after school, so I rushed home and did a chore or two and rushed up to LP and guess what. I wasn't even bothered by the "old friends." I just happily enjoyed my real friends and talked to people I missed and didn't bother myself with Talon (who, by the way, played extremely well, but what else is new?).

After the game, three of my favorite boys picked us up and we headed to the Colemere's to jam. And eat baby cinnamon rolls. And play pool. And have a piano recital. And watch dance videos on YouTube.

But, of course, no day is perfect without a dance or two. I snuck into a LP dance, but turns out it's very easy, especially when your aunt teaches there. And, of course, no dance is complete without friends and Nathan Stukey dressed as a Jabawokee and having Parker finally teach my how to Charleston.

What a beautiful day.

Don't take candy from strangers... Oh, wait, do.

All my love, Addy

Life is brilliant.

It's true. I'm just so happy. Because guess what! Today, I wore a blazer. Yes, a blazer. It even has some funny little elbow pads. I wasn't even grouchy upon discovering that my sister wore my favorite rainboots to school. I was that joyful today. Also, someone said that I sort of remind them of Ingrid Michaelson. I've never been so overjoyed by something in my entire life. And another kind soul said I remind them of Zooey Dechanel. What?! Such classy women!

I feel like an incredibly classy individual.

Keep calm and ditch class.

All my love, Addy

P.S. I just found out that a little girl in my sister's preschool class was Justin Bieber for Halloween. I'm completely enthralled and slightly repulsed.

Facts.

I hate facts. Because sometimes, facts suck. They say things like, "If you want to not be fat, you need to sleep and eat healthy things and run and stuff." That's a fact. Another fact? "Boys are really stupid." I'm not a huge fan of that fact either. Or possibly, "Your Ipod broke and the new Ipod that is really old that you are using just froze and is being a meanie." Or sometimes, facts say, "We used to be really best friends and then something happened inside of us and it is uber weird now." That's a fact.

But sometimes, on rare occasions, facts say something like, "Bianca is nice and I really like her and she is becoming the oddest best friend I have ever acquired in all of my life." Or, "Hayley is reading my blog and I love her." Maybe they say, "Mallory and Hannah are awesome and cute." Or possibly, "We sat and laughed together for nearly an hour today and no one else in the whole wide world mattered right then because he has beautiful eyes and I'm positively joyful about the whole ordeal." Or sometimes they say, "I get to work at a wedding tonight." Of course, these are very nice facts and I am terribly glad that they are real, actual facts and not just fragments of my over-worked imagination.

I wore a a bright pink sweater today, too. That is how beautiful this day was.

Nothing can ruin this beautiful day. ("Nothing," Katie would say, "Except for forgetting your chapstick.)

Fall in love.

All my love, Addy

He Said, She Said: A Discussion On Love

Me: Have you ever been in love?

Him: What does that mean?

Me: Have you ever been truly in love?

Him: No. Too dangerous.

What I said: "This is true."

What I meant: "I'M TRULY IN LOVE WITH YOU."

In the words of my new favorite little songstress, Mindy Gledhill:

"Nobody knows that I am a secret spy

I follow you home, careful to walk behind you

I climb up your tree and hide in the leaves

To keep you from seeing who I am

Call me obsessed, but I need to know your name

Your age, your address and where in the world you came from

It's silly to think that I'm on the brink

Of falling right off my rocker

Oh, I want to know

All about your mom and your favorite song

And why you hypnotize me

Well, I tell you what

I'm the definition of obsessive-compulsive, crazy love

Late after dark, your light is on upstairs

And I watch you dance as if you were Fred Astaire

A little finesse, a sparkly dress

And I could be Ginger Rogers

Oh, I want to know

All the books you read and your favorite sweets

And why you hypnotize me

Well, I tell you what

I'm the definition of obsessive-compulsive, crazy

La, la, la I'm like a firefly

La, la, la in the evening sky

I'm all aglow whenever I see you walking by

Oh, I want to know

If you ever plan to hold my hand

And why you hypnotize me

Well, I tell you what

I'm the definition of

Obsessive-compulsive crazy love"

So what? I'm a little bit of a stalker.

Do you think he ever plans to hold my hand?

Automotives.

It is a beautiful day.

It is a brilliant day.

Also, at the end of my horoscope this morning it said this: "And do take special care with anything involving automotives today."

You bet I laughed forever.

And then I became very, very afraid for myself and buckled my seatbelt with extreme care.

Of course, I did take special care with anything involving automotives today. Except for once, when the UPS man arrived at school and left his lovely, doorless, brown truck unattended. Then, Meghan and I proceeded to watch him suspiciously as he walked by with a load of boxes balanced precariously upon a dolly, then sprint toward his lovely, doorless, brown truck and hop in the front seat and take a picture. We thought ourselves to be unendingly funny.

Recycle.

All my love, Addy.

This is what a feminist looks like.

FEMINISM IS THE RADICAL NOTION THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE, TOO.