Preparing Effie

                Right now, I am sitting on my bed trying to do homework…on a Friday night. This is a very rare occasion- usually my homework is put aside and forgotten about until Sunday afternoon. Sometime yesterday my new laptop arrived in the mail, and it has been distracting me ever since. From my point of view, given the choice of doing homework (the right thing to do) or messing around on my computer (the more fun thing to do) obviously I’m going to choose the latter. I have to say though, my Pre-Calculus homework is already done. So there.

                Instead of finishing my homework this evening, a couple of friends and I went to the craft store and bought a bunch of fabric and supplies to begin making our Halloween costumes. I realize it’s only September, but since we are making our costumes from scratch, we thought it would be best to start now. Time wise I think we made a good decision to start earlier. Our costumes look great so far, even though they are nowhere near finished.

                My computer has been helping us with our project all evening; it has looked up pictures for references, played upbeat songs to get us in the crafty mood, and distracted us when we least needed to be distracted.

                I suppose I should tell you a little about our costumes. I’m assuming you’ve heard of the Hunger Games? If not, I’m assuming you live under a rock…I’m pretty sure everyone knows what the Hunger Games are. Anyway, my friend and I are going as Effie Trinket, a flamboyant and colorful woman who is not afraid to dress as outlandishly as possible. In the Hunger Games movie, the character Effie wears a few wild outfits. From extremely large hair and accessories, to expertly tailored “Lady GaGa looking” outfits, Effie has got it going on. And on Halloween my friend and I will be doing the same.

                Effie’s makeup. Need I say more? Look up her makeup if you are unfamiliar with what I am talking about. Effie’s makeup is the most gaudy, bright, insane creation. Her blush is rich in pigment, as are her multicolored eye shadows which were made to accent her pursed lips. Caution: when using ColorStay 24 hour Eye Shadow, it really does stay on for an extended period of time- it doesn’t come off easily…fair warning.

                Instead of doing homework tonight, I decided to use my laptop to bring a fictional character to life. From the 2D image on the computer to real life, my friends and I have recreated a character only seen in movies and imaginations. Not that you should follow in my footsteps and procrastinate homework to do something a lot more fun and entertaining, but life was more amusing with fictional makeup and whimsical costumes.

(469 words)

Teachers and Their Double Lives

                It’s Thursday, the day I have to work at the hospital, the day spicy chicken is in the cafeteria, and the day teachers decide to lay on the homework. What do all three of these Thursday activities have in common? Besides being Thursday activities, they are unrelated in every way. I just thought I would try and grab your attention while I mindlessly babble over this blog.

                I’m not sure what it is about teachers, but I think they live a double life. My theory is that they get together in some super-secret lair and plan when to give students homework. I mean if you think about it, there will be days when none of your teachers give you any homework- those days are always the best! Then there are those days where every single teacher you have decides to assign a bunch of stuff no kid wants to do. It’s insane! Tonight is one of those nights, and I have to admit the whole load of homework didn’t get done.

                What if teachers really do live double lives? What kind of double life would they have; would they have the Hannah Montana/ Miley Cyrus double life, or maybe the Peter Parker/ Spiderman double life… It’s kind of fun to think about, isn’t it?

                And what if they do live double lives? Sneaking around devising ways to ruin students’ sleep schedules by assigning so much homework they don’t go to bed until the early hours of the morning- and then they complain when we fall asleep in class?! Not fair. And all because of a double life.

                Another double life teachers live: their lives outside of the classroom. I know, a teacher not at school? As strange as it sounds, teachers actually have lives outside of the seven hours of hell we call school. I don’t know about you, but I always like to run into teachers at the store and see them with their families- you may think that’s odd of me to say, but keep in mind I’m the one writing about teachers and their double lives. It fascinates me that these people who lecture us, give us harsh grades, assign an overload of homework, and take away our cell phones while we are using them- these people we spend all day with actually go home and spend time with their families.

                Or maybe they don’t go home to their families right away. Maybe they are down in their secret lairs with their evil homework devising capes on, their minds whirring with thoughts of how they could possibly make our lives that much more difficult on any given Thursday night. And tomorrow they will act like nothing happened and go on with their lesson like it’s no big deal. That, my friends, is what I call a double life.

(471 words)

Bad Case of the Mondays

                It’s Monday, which means everyone is tired and cranky. No one wants to go to school or work, we all just want to stay home in our pajamas and stuff our faces with junk food while watching our favorite movies. Unless you’re one of those crazy Monday-loving people, I just described you pretty accurately. Yet here I am, blogging- actually trying to be productive. Maybe I’m being productive because I’m in school and the teacher can see what I’m doing, maybe because I don’t want to do this assignment later tonight, whatever the reason is I’m doing it.

                I’ve always wondered why people hated Mondays, myself included. I think it’s because you actually have to do what needs to be done; it’s not the weekend anymore, you have to get off your butt and fix what needs to be fixed, or finish what has been started.  Mondays are like the start of school, just in a shorter time frame. No kid wants school to start after a great summer- who wants a Monday to start after a great weekend? Mondays create the “summer is over” feeling, but they don’t just do it once a year. Mondays make the sad, why-does-school-have-to-start feeling every single weekend. That’s 32 times per school year Mondays upset 99.9% of students (I made the percent up, I have no idea what the true number is).

                The worst part of Monday is getting up in the morning. When my alarm went off this morning, I slammed my hand down on the snooze button, just like every other morning. Except this time I missed the snooze button and hit the radio button, which caused a sudden blaring of noise through the peaceful quiet of my sleeping house. Do you think the radio could have been playing a song, though? Nope. It blared commercials until I could find the button to shut it off. I went back to bed after that, thinking I still deserved my Monday morning sleep. My half-awake self had turned off the alarm, missed the snooze button, and fallen back asleep. Needless to say, I woke up with 15 minutes before I had to leave for school. Ouch.

                Mondays. One of life’s greatest hardships (almost as bad as starvation or natural disasters… imagine if a natural disaster happened on a Monday… Double Ouch.). Mondays are just a horrible way to start a fantastic week. And who knows- maybe one of these Mondays something amazing will happen to you (maybe you’ll win the lottery, maybe you’ll buy a magic pet fish, maybe the school lunch will have good food) but whatever it is, I hope your Mondays end up better than mine.

 

(446 words)

Someday

                Remember when you were little and everyone would ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up? I do, and I remember some of my ridiculous answers as well. I wanted to be an astronaut; not just any astronaut would do, I wanted to be the astronaut who ruled the universe. I wanted to be a Queen, a teacher, a vampire, an actress, a singer, Po from the Telly-Tubbies, and then there was one more. I wanted to be a doctor.

                For years now, that last one has stuck. To this day, my dream is to become a doctor. According to my parents I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. My dad tells the story of when he could first tell I was going to be a doctor someday. It was the day my brother was born, and my dad and I were walking around the hospital. Dad said I would look at the different machines with a look of wonder, curiosity plain on my face. Every time he tells the story, he mentions that that was the exact moment he knew I would work in a hospital environment. Oh, I forgot to tell you. This moment happened shortly after I turned two years old.

                I’ve always been interested in the medical field; I just had no idea where I wanted to go with it. Did I want to become a surgeon? For a while, I did. Then I looked into cardiology, and I fell in love. I was mesmerized by the different things it could do, how amazing and complex it really was.

                And then life got busy. I was going to school, taking AP classes, working, volunteering- I was constantly on the move. On the weekends if I needed a little extra money, I would babysit. My mom says I’m a kid magnet; everywhere I go, a kid is sure to follow. When I told her that I wanted to be a cardiologist, she paused for a minute. She then proceeded to ask, “Could you do that job for kids instead of adults?” I was confused at first, why would she want me to work with kids? Is there really that big of a difference between treating an adult and treating a child? Mom then said, “You are so good with kids, why don’t you apply that gift towards what you already had in mind?” And you know what? I actually took her advice and am now looking into pediatric cardiology. To do what I really want to do, and to do what I’m good at as well.

(432 words)

Papa

                For awhile now I’ve needed to write another blog, but I had no idea what to write about. Writer’s block hit me hard, and I thought and I struggled to come up with a topic. I even recruited my mom to help me think of an idea, and you know what? She actually helped! I know a helpful parent? So uncommon these days. Just kidding. Kinda.

                She told me to write about my grandpa, who passed away a year and a half ago. Papa was the greatest man ever. He was the ultimate craftsman, the ultimate chef, and most importantly the ultimate grandpa.

                Papa always put his family before himself. Nothing meant more to him than his family. If something was wrong, Papa was the first one to notice, and the first one to fix the problem. He knew when to make you laugh, and how to calm you down. He was the one who kissed boo-boo’s when we fell down, and he was the one who was up to anything. Even the most outrageous schemes us kids would come up with, Papa would go along with them. He would build us the best pillow/chair/blanket fort ever, and taught all us grandchildren how to fly a kite. He gave me my first fish tank on my seventh birthday. On the day I was born, he walked into the hospital with a pink balloon and a fishing pole. I used that fishing pole until it became too small to use. Papa was a religious man who went to church every Sunday; come rain or shine, he was there ready to sing as loud and off key as possible. Every Easter he would make Polish sausage- his was always the best. He would wear a Santa hat every Christmas, to match his white beard. He would read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas as many times as we asked him to, without complaint. He would play baseball in the backyard with us, even though we stunk. He would help us chop up wood to teach us how to build a proper fire. He built us whatever we wanted him to build: toy cars, baby cradles, rocking horses.

                But the best thing about Papa? He had the one thing not a lot of people have anymore. He loved unconditionally. It didn’t matter what you looked like, it didn’t matter what you wore, it didn’t matter who you were. Papa loved you at your absolute worst, so that he could be there for you at your absolute best. He was the greatest Papa ever, and no one will ever be able to replace the amazing relationship he and I had.

(445 words)

Little Things Taken for Granted

                Do you ever have those days where you feel bad for saying something? I’m having one of those days right now. Yesterday afternoon I had to get sutures on the backside of my left shoulder. The numbing process burned, but for the rest of the procedure, I didn’t feel a thing. Later that evening though, I began to have growing discomfort. As the night progressed, the pain in my shoulder grew, until eventually I was to the point of uneasiness. Apparently discomfort is totally normal- something the doctor had conveniently forgotten to mention.  After learning it was normal, I calmed down and took some Ibuprofen, thinking this was the worst it would get. The challenges continued however when I remembered the doctor said I wasn’t supposed to get soap in the wound during a shower. Yeah. Try showering without getting your left shoulder wet. Far easier said than done. I swear my stitches are in the most awkward spot possible; I can’t lug my backpack around on my left shoulder, I can’t sleep flat on my back or while laying on my left side, I can’t tip my head back to finish the last few sips of a beverage…and I realized that all this had occurred, and I haven’t even had these stitches for more than 24 hours yet.

               This is the point where I start to feel bad for complaining. There are people in the world that have far worse injuries, people who are in far worse condition than I am, yet I have the guts to complain about a small wound on my shoulder. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it is uncomfortable. No, I am not the most unlucky person out there in the world. I volunteer at the biggest hospital in my city; every time I volunteer, I meet people who have pretty severe wounds. Some have to have surgery and end up spending a night or two at the hospital. I didn’t have to do that. My sutures were put in, and then I went home. The procedure took 20 minutes, tops. In a week I will get them removed. There are people out there that wished that’s all there was to their injury, but here I am grouchy and upset over this one trivial wound.

                Working in a hospital environment, helping others with their medical incidents has better prepared me for what was to come. It’s different being on this end, where others are helping me with my medical event. Thank goodness I’m alright! Everything in the last day has shown me that you really can’t take anything for granted (sleeping a certain way, drinking the last few drops of a drink, showering without worrying about getting soap on your shoulder). Anything could happen at any given moment, and it’s times like these that I appreciate the little things in my life.

(476 words)

Homecoming

                Homecoming: a school dance that occurs once a year. It’s the day where guys pull out their ties and girls go out and spend their parents’ hard earned money on the perfect dress. I’m not sure how it works in the guy world, but in the girl world, there are some unspoken rules.

                One: You don’t buy a dress just because you like it. Your first thought is to buy a dress to out-dress every other girl there. The dress you buy has to look expensive, and has to be a dress no other girl is wearing to the event. It has to complement your figure, but still have the “wow factor.”

                Two: The guy has to ask the girl to homecoming, not the other way around. Girls ask guys to WPA (women pay all), but homecoming is the time for the guys to shine. Guys are put in the spotlight as they come up with creative ways to ask a girl to homecoming. Not many girls want just a simple “Will you go to homecoming with me?” and they definitely don’t want to get asked over text. The pressure is on for the guys to find a unique way to win the girl over.

                Three: Homecoming Royalty. At our school, only seniors can be elected for homecoming king and queen. The entire school gets to vote on who they think should be queen and king. In the week leading up to the big night, an all school assembly is held, where the contestants running to be king and queen are asked questions, so that everyone can see what the contestants are like, and base their decision on who they liked the best. The king and queen are announced at the Friday night homecoming game.

                Four: The Homecoming Game. The day before homecoming is the homecoming game, where we take on the easiest team so that we are guaranteed a win. Right before the game starts, homecoming king and queen are announced. All the contestants line up and the crowns are placed on the winners. The king and queen wear their crowns to the dance the next day. The game itself is wild. Where I stand, the homecoming game is never watched, everyone is just there to socialize. Every time the parents cheer, we take it as our cue to cheer as well. The student section decks out in our school’s colors, and have a good time before the dance has even begun.

                Five: The Dance. The most important part of homecoming. The entire week has been leading up to this one moment, and the time has come for girls to get their hair and make-up on, and to put on their dream dresses. The guys do their thing too, I guess… I wouldn’t know, as I’m not a guy. The rest of the story is up to you- did the guy and the girl dance the night away? Did she spill something on her dress while eating dinner? Anything could happen on this one exciting night.

(507 words)