Day 03: The Parental Supervision

These are my parents. Someone once referred to them as Barbie and Ken, which I found mildly hilarious. (And quite possibly true. I mean, look at them.)

He plays the guitar. She plays the piano. He sings. She doesn’t. She’s good at math. He isn’t. She is a runner, and so is he. He is a human performance and organizational coach. She is a landscape designer. They do yoga. They are in love.

While most marriages seem to be falling apart, my parents are falling deeper into love every single day. They make out on the couch and at the grocery store and in the car. While the car is in motion. It’s fine.

I have his personality and her cheekbones.

Yesterday, they were teaching me not to run into the road. Today, they are teaching me how to drive upon that road. Yesterday, they were watching me breathe while I slept. Today, I am creeping into their room around midnight and kissing their temples. Yesterday, they were teaching me how to add. Today, they are checking my grades obsessively to make sure I get a good grade in College Preparation math. Yesterday, they were reading my stories about pixies and bunny rabbits. Today, they are watching me write and begging me to write professionally. Yesterday, they were listening to me screech on my violin. Today, they are hearing me play Bach concertos and sing in front of large crowds. Yesterday, they were running as I rode my bike next to them. Today, they are sending me out to run miles on my own. Yesterday, they put me into dance class. Today, they are watching me do pirouettes on pointe.

Tomorrow, I’m going to live outside of their house. And I will miss our arguments about my skirt being too short or my grade being too low.

Some days, they are my best friends. Other days, they are my parents. I guess that’s just the way things go. I love them very much and I know they reciprocate those feelings. "I love you to the stars and back," I said in elementary school. "I loved you first," my dad would say. "Do I get a kiss?" was my mom's constant question. I love them to the stars and back. It's very true.

Keep your chin up in the face of adversity.

All my love, Addy

Day 02: Boys.

I have liked forty-six boys since the age of five. That's an average of just under five boys a year and nearly one boy every two and a half months. The truth is, boys don't like me. They just don't. At least, not the boys I fall into love with. I aim too high. I like boys who are entirely out of my league (for example, Talon Shumway - I loved him once). Boys don't like me and that's fine. But that's obviously never stopped me from liking boys.

I shall forever remember my first love. His name was Brandon. He sat next to me in first track kindergarten. He had dark hair and olive skin and pretty eyelashes. I sometimes would day dream about him (I've always been really good at daydreaming instead of listening in school). Then his family moved to Italy. And that was the end of that.

Since then it's all become some sort of a cycle, really. It goes a bit like this: See boy. Stare. Think about boy for many hours. Ask someone for his name. Stalk him for a bit. Get his number. Text. Become sort of friends. Text. Confess my love for him. Make things awkward. See new boy. Stare.

But things are slowly changing. I think I'm falling slowly in love with someone and that's scary. Cause this time, it might be for real. He's tall. He has dark hair and funny shoes. His car is in a state of constant messy-ness. He's intelligent. He wants to be psychologist. He remembers that I like to wish on clocks. He likes techno music and freestyle rap. Sometimes he winks when he sees me across the room. He gives good hugs. I know him. I trust him. I like the shape of his eyes.

And I hate his on-again-off-again girlfriend.

Read a book.

All my love,

Addy

Dear Bandwagon: Is there room for me on this thing? Love, Addy

Day 01: Introduce me. Pictures and words.

figure 01.

figure 02.

figure 03.

Some part of me wants to be the woman in figure 01: classy, sophisticated, overdressed. And another piece of me wants to be the girl in figure 02 with messy hair and eclectic clothing. But I am nothing more than the girl in figure 03. & I am happy about that. I am green-eyed and sandy-haired and freckle-faced. I am in love with my backdoor neighbor, infatuated with a boy who is wildly intelligent, find Dakota Gosselmeyer (or whatever his crazy last name is) to be cute, and only now coming to reality with my romantic interest in all three of them. My favorite color is grey. I have exceedingly long eyelashes, and I love them. I am me. That is all.

If you're positively dying to know more about me, click here (it's just an old post about myself, really). Or keep reading for the next 30 days. You know, either or. [Edit: the hyperlink doesn't work, does it? Ha. Ha. Looks like you'll just have to read the bandwagon posts.]

Be euphoric about something worth being euphoric about.

All my love,

Addy

P.S. You bet I just snapped figure 03 from my computer photobooth.

The truth is this:

I'm just going to admit it. Put it out there into the void. Because I feel like if I put down on paper (or, in this case, on blog) it becomes real - no longer a whispered secret or a nagging thought.

My infatuation with Perfect Boy Whom I am Infatuated With is merely that: an infatuation. I want to know him. I want to be his friend. He's an interesting creature. The truth is this: Perfect Boy Whom I am Merely Curious About is a cover-up for the truth.

I am in love with someone else and I am terrified.

There. Now it's real.

All my love,

Addy

Not in real life. (Plus, in real life, I'm a psychic.)

Our relationship in real life goes sort of like this: he laughs when I say something cute/funny/sarcastic/witty/stupid/really stupid/charming and I wonder "Is this love??" and catch glimpses of his lovely smile out of the corner of my eye when I am supposed to be doing something productive.

But it could potentially be sort of like this maybe (in fake life, probably): we hold hands sometimes and people say, "They love each other" when they see us together and we might go to the symphony or see a play occasionally and it would be cute.

In other news, I'm a psychic. Once upon a time I guessed who Kaitlyn loved (find a link to him here!) and today I guessed who Chloe loved(whom I completely adore on so many levels, by the way - Chloe, I mean, not the boy she loves). Plus, I took a test once and it told me "You have heightened psychic abilities maybe and you're pretty." (Okay, in real life it only said the first part of that. It's fine.)

I hope you had a beautiful day. Cause you deserve as much.

Do not diet cause it's ultra-dangerous and not very fun.

Enjoy the ride,

Ben

(Kidding. It's Addy. All my love.)

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.

Ben stole my sign-off. But it's fine.

I noticed it was going on for quite some time, though I simply let it be because I found such hilarity in the whole thing. He claimed he would do it til I noticed. I noticed. And finally felt bad cause he thinks I don't read his blog. Well, I do. And so I finally "noticed" today.

I love Ben, think he's cute, and read his blog.

Kisses and stuff (instead of "All my love" cause Ben stole my sign-off),

Addy