Not A Fan Of (Unecessary) Work

I have got to seriously learn how to better manage my TIME! I'm crazy about leaving stuff off 'til the last minute, and then when it comes time to present the product, I've gotta stay up all through to the witching hours of never ending morning and through together some random crap and say "oh yeah, took me weeks to pull this thing together", completely ignoring the fact that I called my budd last night and told them all about my porcastination and how I was never gunna finish it and I would be dead meat by tomorrow. It always turns out, though, in my favor. I have a nitch for last-minute-surprises, and it's almost always a major grade hanging delicately in the balance. I can't say it's right, but oh dear charolette, I'm good. And of course, at the end of every school year lies a fresh start. A clean slate. A new beginning, far from the old ways of procrastination that I love and cherish. And come summer, I have a renewed since of motivation to change my evil ways, "I'm so gunna do summer eading like waaaaaaaaay before summer's over, even the journal assignment. Oh yeeeaaah." So tell me, friend, school starts when? In less than a week. I'm on page 18 of 343 and have got one journal entry out of 25 in the bag. Totes, I'm gunna max out the next few days, and not even worry about it. At least not until the night before school starts.

Imaginary Circumstances

Not much going on in my world, to tell the truth, just adjusting to a new home. No furniture, just the electronics--TV and desktop. Well, so far any ways. So for the past week, and probably for the next two, we've been floormates without even a mattress or comforters to make the illusion of a some-what bed. (Good thing I stole a blanket from the hotel.) But that's what the kitchen counter tops are for when the floor gets too familiar a place to lay my head. I'm really loving the idea that I can finally paint my room. After so much long anticipation of this very moment, I'm at a lose as to what color I want...doesn't life always seem to work out like that? Well, mine. I think I am going to loose a part of myself in the process of completing summer reading. I don't hate the book choices, but I just can never get around to doing the whole "shut up and read" thingamajig. It's just in my DNA to rebel against any kind of work required during down time, and summer is my ultimate down time. I'm too lazy to do it, and I'm gunna have to force the work, the creative juices. I hate forcing things. Like acting like you wanna go to a party your friend invited you to, when your stomach is knotting up just thinking about walking through that door, and your mind is steady thinking up ways to get out of this trap you stepped right into. And on a bluer note, I can't seem to put my finger on who is hi-jacking my thoughts. Is it a mystery? I think it's my own creation, a figment of what could only be my imagination. I wish it was someone I knew, like an interesting fellow from not exactly a certain place, but with so much person you wouldn't even mind, and even the stylish tendencies of a European model. He could be a somebody or a nobody or an artist or (not a heroine addict!) a philosopher, a poet, even a rocker. I just want to believe I will know them some how this semester, after summer waves goodbye and I'm left in the dust, just me, school, and the world. This guy is clouding my thoughts and he's disrupting my natural flow, and I can't help but think, "Are you real already?". Maybe the love that my friends feel is pouring over into my very own subconscious, which is now some how finding its way into my conscious thoughts. Whatever my soul has chosen to do with my emotions, I wanna see it. I wanna open my eyes and realize I wasn't dreaming the whole thing up in my head. And there it is. Thank you, that's it. That's it. I've got to look for him. Bam, that just happened.

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Photograph by RomanceXGirl (edited by Maariyah Faa'izah)

STEP ONE: "We admit we are powerless..."

For almost my entire life, I have been over weight. I can only remember being normal sized, or skinny up until the age of about five. From then on, I've always had some extra weight on my body. And usually, I never even really think about it. I mean, it crosses my mind from time to time when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or if I see the scale lying on the bathroom floor, but otherwise, I've always just learned to live with myself. My home life is very easy going, and weight is almost never discussed seriously, seeing as me, my mother, and my brother are all over weight. But some how, I still managed to find that fat-person guilt hidden inside of myself. Most of my friends from elementary school through high school have been significantly smaller in size than me, so I guess this combined with the media portrayal of what beautiful is is the reason behind my shame of being the size I am, and not doing anything to change it. But despite struggling to find a way to change and exercise daily, eat right, and stay motivated for more than just a week, I am realizing how unimportant it all is. Being healthy is a great thing and nobody should put its benefits to the side, but being quote-un-quote "skinny" is just another part of American superficiality. I mean, what is the definition of "skinny" anyways??...according to Webster, it means to "lack usual or desirable bulk, quantity, qualities, or significance." Why would I want to lack desirable qualities or significance? This word has clearly become misconstrued by the American population. It means exactly the opposite of what the majority of us want. But still, we use it to describe someone who is "in-shape" or "attractive" or "the right size". And just as this simple word has become warped in meaning by society, so has our own perception of just what "the right size" is. I consider someone who can wear snug clothes without exposing lumps and frumpiness to be in good shape. And this is because of how I have seen the world so far. To me, if you're not a thin woman or girl, you probably won't attract many guys, and if you do, they'll be bigger than you. My perception of image is so screwed up and sometimes I can't stand it because the main target is the person I want and need to love the most, myself. But now that I have gotten past denial, I can begin trying to reverse this train of thought. I'm still in need of losing weight, but I am accepting that that doesn't mean I need to become a size 2 in order to be attractive. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it though, for now, I'm just focused on changing the mindset before the body. Plus, I'm already attractive, and dude, I'm sexy.

Get Up & Jam...

So by way of the awesome Twitterverse, I have had the chance to receive a 2009 sampler of Downtown Record's latest new kids on the scene. (I was so hyped when I realized that that's what I had received--9 FREE tracks!) I was originally hoping for some Kevin Michael EP tracks, but I wasn't completely bummed when I didn't see the kid's face anywhere on the demo. The entire thing was packed with some great grooves, but by far, the biggest thing on there was a track by a young lady named Mapei. By all means. I dare you to check click her pic above and check the track out and NOT bop that head...

Song: "Leader of the Pack"

Artist: Mapei

Album: Coco Butter Diaries EP

(Available on iTunes - 4 tracks $3.96 or get the single for $0.99)

Always Happy. Never Satisfied.

I just had another notorious fight with my big brother. And the topic was my selfishness: he called me spoiled and "never satisfied". I guess I come off like that to some--well, at least I do to my brother. I personally can't really see it that much. Well, okay, I DO have a severe tendency to become quickly distracted from one shiny toy to a seemingly shinier, newer one, but who doesn't? And I KNOW I can't be the only teenager out here that has a desire for various objects that are just out of reach...or maybe $600 out of reach? (It's my nature; expensive taste is something that found me, not the other way around!) So, okay, I'll admit that I should probably enjoy the stuff I have already, ya know, settle down and enjoy things more than just a few times. But it's just way more fun to look for new stuff. I like the new and the bold, or the old and undiscovered. Things like vintage leather jackets and hipster sneakers intrigue my senses; I love love love anything with a greater potential lurking behind it, and if I know that I am the KEY to that potential, then it's sorta hard to not at least dream of having these things...or to avoid the strive to save up so that I can one day own 'em. I am so interested in the world around me, and can you blame me? It's always changing and always thinkin' up something new, so it's only natural for me to impulsively want to try and keep up. But my reasoning for this post is much simpler than my explanation as to why I live in the not-now: I wanted to share a piece of my dream, a shoe that rocks my world with it's simplicity. But it's still so diverse. I'm saving up for it...

Shoe: Sneaker

Make: Royal Elastic

Model: Queen Hi - Blue/Orange/White

Price:$75.00

The "Guy" Thing Isn't About the Guy

So I figure it's about time I strike some chords that I haven't talked about yet. I know, it's only my freaggin' tenth blog, but whatevs. I am officially giving myself room to stretch my wings here. I'm gunna try to cover at least one significant topic a week, and I've already done one (A Deeper Look Into Who Be M.F.E.) so you can just consider this a bonus because I love you like that.(; So what's up? Well, it's about boys. (Learn to expect things like this: I'm a teenager!) I'm not that big on a long intro to things...so I'm gunna keep this one rolling. When a guy starts taking interest in me, there can be a plethora of feelings and thoughts jumbling around inside my head. Why does he hang around me? Does he like me? Am I likable? Is he single? Is he joking, or is he serious? Was that a hint? Is he hitting on me? Am I girlfriend material? Does he want me to be his girlfriend? Is he gunna ask me out? Am I attractive enough to ask out?....the list goes ON, trust me. But my all-time favourite rant is this: "Am I over reacting?". I like this question because the little voice in my head never fails to bring it up, and it almost always puts me in check. If I'm talking to a guy that I find attractive and he seems interested in the conversation, that same little voice jumps in before I can begin to speculate: "He's not that into you. He's just making polite convo, so don't jump to conclusions...". And to an extent, that voice is my friend. It helps me calm down when I find myself in new guy situations and keeps my expectations low, so if it turns out that the voice was right, I'm not surprised. But that's the brim. Besides that, that voice is the devil. It constantly nags me about how I'm just not good enough for any guy, lowering my self esteem gradually. It is a self-protecting device that harms me. And mastering the art of controlling that voice is vital to preservation of self. So I began to try to ignore it. Of course, it got louder, but after much practice and many inspirational YouTube videos, I believe I have uncovered a better deal of my other voice: self-confidence. I'm here, at a cross roads of immaturity and higher thinking, and so I try my hardest to get to the latter. I tell myself, I am good enough. I say, "Girl, you are who you are, and that's not gunna change, so don't wear yourself out tryin' ". I give myself pep talks more often instead of letting that selfish little voice dominate my feelings. I look in the mirror and make myself find something I like, every day. I find new things sometimes, and sometimes I pick the same things: my eyes and the way they curve when I smile, my dimples, the wild nature of my independent hair...and I also find out what I don't like, but that list gets shorter every time. I make sure to keep the negatives at a minimum, and for the things I'm not happy with, I just shrug and say oh well, "change it or leave it be: cause you sure nuff can't do half of either". Little things like painting my nails or taking an extra long, warm shower can work miracles. The best therapy for me though is just speaking my mind, and not allowing that little voice to have a say. It's the sweetest victory when I get those moments of clarity and have a strange courage to just sit back, relax, and do "me". And it's all good and gravy. I realize that I am who I am, and if another person won't accept that, it's okay. It doesn't matter. Sooner or later I will attract people who DO like the person I am by nature...all I have to do is show them who I am by nature. And I'll get used to doing that more everyday, with practice. With the mirror, and positive thinking, and reassurance. I will begin to grow into something new and more beautiful than before. And I will be smacked into a new world by something amazing: self-love. That's the bar. That's where I wanna be. Because once I get to the point where I can maintain that "moment of clarity" permanently, I'll have arrived. And it's obvious when some one's arrived: everyone in the class turns their head to look at the person who's coming through the door 30 minutes past the start of class. And that's me, I'm late. But at least I'm approaching that door. And when I open it, every one's eyes will be hot-glued on me, "me" me. Even the guy that's outta my league, cause now he's so not. I'm outta his.

PB + J = <3

So why do I love PB&J so much again? Don't you dare ask me that question. I think it's quite obvious...well, okay, I'll tell ya. It's just so GOOD. Like, you seriously know something is special when it's g-o-o-d...it's freaggin' one letter away from spelling God. It IS the king of all sandwiches...I mean, how many sandwhiches can you make with one slice of Great Value and two ingredients? (That's exactly what I thought. Uh-huh.) And I happen to know how to make a mean PB&J. I am total beastmode when it comes to the art of sandwich making. I guess the sandwich gods adore me, what can I say? Don't believe me? Feast your hungry little eyes on that picture up above. Um-hm, that's one of my creations. So just know that if you ever come over my house, you've got a sandwich with your name written all over it...okay, maybe not, I don't want you to die of ink poisoning...bleh. Oh well. Just don't sew me.