...........

I'm not having a good day. If you couldn't already tell. And no, it's not because all my friends are out partying for new year's eve while I'm sitting updating my blog. Well, okay, it is because of that. But not the way you think.

You see, all my friends are partying. But here. At my house. And I'm locked in my room, updating my blog. 

Do I have any real, rational reason for this?

No.

It's not like my ex is here (because I don't have an ex) or because someone recently died and I'm sad or because my mortal enemy is outside my door. In fact, I like all of the people that are here currently. So ... why? 

That is the question. I guess my blogging is kind of trying to find the answer. 

I'm an introvert, first of all. Not a huge surprise, I'm sure, but it had to be said. I don't feel comfortable in large groups. I feel decidedly uncomfortable, in fact. Just the thought of leaving the quiet confines of my room to go and socialize with that many people fills me with dread.

I wish desperately that I could be a social butterfly, working the room, comfortable, laughing, smiling, talking and having people listening. But that's not who I am and if I ever am like that, it will never be me, just another facade. Another mask I can put on. 

One wonders what they must think of me. Do they think I'm sick? Sad? They must assume something's wrong. But that's probably better than them knowing the truth, which is that this is the way I am normally. That my own company is far more pleasurable for me than all of them. That being in that room is a version of my own personal hell. Because that would be really insulting. 

I wonder what it is inside us that makes one person revel in being with a large group of people and others of us recoil. Evolution? Perhaps at one time, seeking out large groups and/or getting people to enjoy your company was vital to survival, but over time certain mutation—like me—have occurred.

And it's also not like I can't be in social situations. I'm really sensitive when it comes to social situations and can generally read things quite well. I can be social. It's just so damn hard. And for what? I honestly don't give a crap whether most of those people like me or not. And the people who do care won't stop liking me because I don't spend an evening with them.

The only interesting variable is my mother, who doesn't like the idea of me becoming a hermit.

But the thing is, I'm not a hermit. I love spending time with people—as long as it's two or three at a time. More than that, and well, a) you don't get to know the real them and b) it's noisy and annoying and loud as hell and c) a contest to see who can talk and get people to listen to them. C) seems like it wouldn't be true when everyone already knows each other well, but it's always a freaking contest.

How do people enjoy that???

See, I don't even have to be in school to have drama in my life. I just create it myself, I guess. 

I need D. to be antisocial with, darn it! But of course she's not here. And probably when she gets here she'll want to socialize and have a great time and I'm getting bitter so I should just stop.

Hermitry (is that a word?) is beginning to sound more and more appealing.

Maybe I should just develop a crappy personality so I'd hate to be left alone in my own company. Or, more probable, I already have one but it's only obvious to everyone except me. 

I have to go, mom calls ... so tell me if any of you also suffer from the same condition.

~Angel

Holidays

Sorry for not updating ... but Merry Christmas to all my invisible blog readers! Have a wonderful season!

xoxoxo
Angel

Aftermath

I realize that aftermath sounds like a depressing title. And I'm not depressed. More, just super tired from staying up till 11:30 dancing. Yes, that means I had a good time at the banquet. 

It was a little awkward, coming parading into the dinner with all the boys waiting for us. But PC was sweet, and nice. No, the awkward part was the dancing bit. It was all fine until the first slowdance. It was all fine until PC asked me to dance during the first slowdance. I protested a little, but then I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I said yes.

Hang on--you're probably thinking, "What? She actually is going out with this nice and funny guy who she actually wanted to go with and she doesn't even want to dance?"

Yes, well, I said I was confusing. I just didn't know about the whole physical contact thing. Not to mention the fact that I can't dance.

But I said yes. And, well, to be honest, all I can say is it was awkward. We never got too close, which was nice for me, but it was just odd to have a guy's hands on your waist and just swaying to the beat. I couldn't look him in the eyes very much ... and I feel bad about that.

I honestly don't know whether or not I like him 'like that'. And apparently, according to G., he doesn't know either. I don't know why, but I find this oddly comforting.

I have to go sleep so I'm not a zombie tomorrow.

Thanks for reading, you all. 

Stupid Life

If you couldn't already tell by the title, I'm having a bad day. 

The thing is, there are lots of reasons I could be having a good day.

Like, PC sat beside me on the bus ride yesterday and we talked for almost an hour and it was really great.

And I got a haircut and I feel pretty. Which is nice, for a change. 

But then there are the reasons why I don't feel great.

Like, my great grandma died two days ago and her funeral is tomorrow and I feel like I don't care enough. Or that I don't even really want to go to the banquet on Tuesday because I'm scared to death of dancing. Or the fact that I might have been talking about how I don't really want to the banquet anymore when PC walked by. Instead of dropping my voice or switching subjects, I just said: "Shoot, forget I said that." and I'm sure he heard me and probably hates me now. But maybe that's better than him liking me anyways.

Whatever. I'm just done today. I feel like having a good cry, which I haven't done since summer. Strange for a teenage girl, but then I am strange. Isn't this the whole point of this blog? To share the strangeness? But suddenly I don't even know what I am anymore.

Falling ... Into What?

I don't like liking people. I've said that already. But it's worth saying again. 

Sure, there's good things. But with my cynical perspective, they are far outweighed by the bad. It freaking sucks waiting for forever for a message and then spending hours trying to interpret the meaning from 3 sentences. It's not fun to be jealous when you spot your crush talking to any other girl. And the endless hours of wondering ... well, those are just the worst. 

Which is why I really, really don't want to fall for PC.

But I think I might be. 

And that freaking sucks. 

But what's worse?

I think he might actually like me too.

And that just makes it that much harder not to like him.

Not to mention the fact that we're going to banquet together.

And exchanging gifts.

And quite possibly slowdancing.

Why is it that something that seems so simple at one moment can suddenly become so complicated the next?

Help!

I know you all are probably tired of hearing about banquet drama ... but there is one thing I need your guys' help with! I have to get PC a gift ... so please either vote on the poll I have up (right sidebar) or comment with another suggestion! All your ideas are wonderful :)

Have a wonderful weekend,

Angel

On Boys

I always liked boys. I didn't have the common revulsion of the opposite gender most people go through at some point in my life. In fact, I got along rather well with boys when I was younger. Or so I thought. 

Before I hit puberty, boys were interesting because they were a novelty. They were different than me and my friends, and that made them mysterious. I wanted to find out more. I had multiple 'crushes' when I was younger that I was convinced were love. The innocence of children. 

After I hit puberty, well, my horomones were going crazy. I managed to make it through years 12 and 13 without really having a serious crush on anyone, for which I am eternally grateful. But it was when I hit fourteen that I realized I had a serious crush on one of my guyfriends, K. 

And after lots of subtle flirting, messages, and confusion, I finally decided that I had to ask him. Face-to-face. Whether he liked me or not. 

Now, after personally having been through it, I would not advise this method to anyone. However, I did it, and I guess you could say it worked, because turned out he did like me back.

You would think I would have been happy for days. But instead, after a brief moment of happiness, it changed to worry. What the heck was I supposed to do now? What was going to happen? We lived a fair distance away from each other, so it wasn't like we could date even if I was old enough for that. But I brushed all that worry aside and just enjoyed the moment. That is, until K. tried to initiate physical contact.

It wasn't anything huge. Just an arm around my shoulder to pull my close. But it freaked the *&%$ out of me. The minute he let go I bolted. And that evening, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, I couldn't seem to find any of the feelings that I had previously felt for him. Fast forward a week and I could see that my crush was officially over.

The only problem now was, what the heck did I tell K.? You can't tell someone: "I'm sorry, I really did like you for a while, but when you tried to touch me I was kind of grossed out and now I don't like you anymore,"

I eventually sent him a message over fb, telling him that I thought it would be better if we were just friends seeing as I couldn't be in a physical relationship right now. Mostly B.S. but better than hurting him horribly. Luckily the feelings about it were mutual. Or at least I thought they were.

A few weeks ago I was talking to K. again, who now has another girlfriend. It was nice to sort of clear the air about what had happened, but at the same time I had no idea how badly I'd hurt him. He told me he'd been mad for months afterwards and felt like I'd been leading him on. Needless to say I felt terrible. 

And experiencing this whole convoluted mess has made me extremely wary when entering any kind of a potentially romantic situation with a guy. I don't like liking people. I really don't. For me, it kind of sucks actually. So I really don't want to fall for PC. But what's worrying me even more now is the banquet. Or more specifically, the dance after the banquet.

If I was scared by physical contact before, who's to say it won't happen again? What if PC asks me to slowdance? What do I say? Apart from the fact that I'm a terrible dancer, there's the whole part about his hands on your waist and your hands around his neck. That's pretty physical. So of course I'm nervous. 

I need advice and/or encouragement, my lovely blog readers. I don't know what to do. 

A Little Like A Fairytale

When I started this blog, I said it wasn't fiction because it wasn't nearly as perfect. 

And don't get me wrong, this is still completely true.

But just now, it feels pretty darn good.

Because if this were a fairytale ... then I just got Prince Charming :)

Well, not really. I mean it is only a dance and a banquet right? But STILL!

Yes, what I'm trying to get at is that funny, cute, intelligent guy -- you know the one -- yes that one -- HE ASKED ME TO THE BANQUET!

And since this is absolutely true, I will just say that my knees did go a little weak and I was a little high for about 10 minutes.

After 10 minutes is when I ran into two ditzy girls in my grade ten class. Let's call them G & T. They were all over me being like: So did (let's call him Prince Charming or PC) ask you to the banquet??

And since I was all high on life and floating on a cloud of wonderfulness, I told them yes. 

I asked G who she was going with, that's N.

That's when T says: You know PC was going to ask you if you hadn't asked N. And it's too bad, cause wouldn't you have rather gone with him?

G shrugs it off and I walk away, drenched in the weight of a cloud that suddenly become too heavy to bear.

After school my close friend C. was talking about tables, because you make tables for the banquet. And after being tired of endless discussions, I left. I came back twenty minutes later only to find that because of 'lack of room', I couldn't sit at their table.

And to be honest, I think that hit me harder.

Because C. and I have been friends for almost my entire life. We've shared bad times and good. I thought we were very close. But I was left out because her date and his friend should 'be together'. 

"I'm sorry dear but you can't sit at our table,"

I guess it hurt me more than I cared to admit. 

Plus I don't really want to sit anywhere else. I mean, I'm not popular, I don't know people. It would be awkward. Really awkward.

But instead of crying in the bathroom, which is what I felt like doing, I kept my head high, told C. on the way home that I really wanted to sit at their table but left it at that, and brushed T.'s comment aside.

I mean, yeah, it bugs me that I might have been PC's second choice. Who wants that? But at the same time, do I trust G&T enough to believe them completely? Not exactly. 

But in the end, I got asked by a guy who I really wanted to go with. 

So, I guess you could call it the beginning of a happily ever after? Maybe?

Dances and Dresses

Greetings to all my wonderful blog readers! I know there's at least two of you out there ;) You could all leave me some love so I know you're there ...

Today is a good day. I just finished a 45 minute run, and there's nothing better than just feeling happy and at peace with yourself. 

Yesterday I went dress shopping. Yes, I know, horrifying! But I did need a dress for banquet, which I am going to date or date-less. 

It all started on Wednesday when I got asked—over FACEBOOK, no less—to the banquet. I politely declined. And not only because he asked me over facebook, but because when I really thought about it, my enjoyment of the evening is worth way more than having or not having a date. If I do go to the banquet with someone, it will be someone who will make that evening very special and fun, not someone who I barely know. I did feel horrible rejecting him, but that's the way it goes sometimes. 

Getting asked did start me thinking though ... because there is this one guy at school who I desperately want to ask me. And I feel like an idiot and going back on everything I said before saying it, but it's true. So I may as well admit it. 

He's everything I said I wanted in a guy: smart, nice, funny, and cute. One of the very few truly intelligent people at school. 

Of course, the chances of him asking me are pretty slim. But that's okay. I've decided to have a great evening regardless of what happens. Thus, getting a dress that made me feel pretty.

My Dad took me shopping in the city on Friday. Let me just say, being sort of a non-shopper, I had no idea that it was Black Friday, a.k.a. the biggest shopping event of the year. There were so many people everywhere it was overwhelming! But I did find a lovely dress that's just my style. Not a garish colour, not glitzy and girly, not attention-seeking—understated, sort of gypsy-ish and it fits perfectly. Third dress I tried on to, which was good, because my shopping limit doesn't go much beyond that. I even brushed it aside when the sales lady asked if my dad was my husband. I don't trust the opinions of people with only four bottom teeth.

The only problem is, now that I have the perfect dress I can't help imagining the perfect guy on my arm as well ... and here I am, turning into a crushing teenage girl. Ah well. I'm sure my dream will be shattered and I'll be back to reality soon enough.

Yours always,

Angel

Do You Read Me?

Hey my loverlies,
So I don't have the time or energy for a long post. Sorry ... but here are two things:
1) I turned on the anonymous comments ... so if you read this or are reading this, please leave me something. I want to know what you guys all think!
2) A wonderful quote ... I want to be this kind of person!

“Sometimes people are beautiful.

Not in looks.

Not in what they say.

Just in what they are.” 

― Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger

Faces (mainly mine)

So I know I promised to post about cafeterias. But the thing is, the more I was thinking about it, the more I realized what a bad idea it was. I mean, everyone knows how much cafeterias suck. But everyone knows that. The only interesting thing I could possibly write about would be if I knew who decided to make a cafeteria. Then I could describe the verbal smack-down I gave him when I met him. Of course, he is probably dead by now.

But the thing is, I don't know that, and so I guess I'll just make this post about whatever I feel like. And what I feel like now is pretty low.

I don't know when I first started having self-esteem issues. Probably around 11, if I had to guess. I was always a very confident kid up until then. I loved standing out, being the centre of attention, that kind of thing. I thought I was gorgeous and smart and talented and that everyone was jealous of me. Yeah, in short I was a bit of a brat. 

When I hit 11, I gained some weight. I was never fat but I definitely had a bit of a pot. I remember distinctly looking at myself in the mirror and hating the way I looked. That's when I vowed to lose weight. So I did. I don't want to go into all those details right now, that's another story for another post, but to make a long story short it didn't help my self-esteem at all. Skinny or chubby, I just didn't like the way I looked. And I really still don't.

I know I'm not ugly. But is it so wrong to want to be pretty, gorgeous, beautiful? And yet I'm smart enough to realize that isn't what really counts. But apparently not smart enough to stop caring. No matter how many times people may tell me I'm pretty, until I believe it myself, it's not going to help. 

I can't remember one time just looking in the mirror and thinking: "wow, I look good," without also noticing all my flaws. 

So, non-existent blog readers, answer me this: Is it wrong to want to feel pretty? And if it isn't, how can one go about obtaining this feeling?

Perspectives

I'm writing this at school, right now, in fact, so I have to be a little careful what I say. However, I don’t think there are any Grade 10ers around, so I’m probably safe. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to stand writing on this retarded keyboard though. The keys are about two inches off the keyboard and the backspace key has a habit of magically shrinking to the size of a pin just when I need it. Whatever. I should stop complaining, that’s one of the things I wanted to change this year. Onto better (or at least more ridiculous) things.

If you have been through Grade 10, which most of you probably have, you will know what I mean when I say that everybody and their dog has had, has, or wants a boyfriend. Which is all okay. Except for the fact that most of them are so immature they don’t even really know what a relationship means. And probably not how to spell it either.

I don’t mean to by hypercritical; it’s just that when you’re on the outside looking in, the whole thing is a little absurd, no matter how maturely you try to frame it. “Dating” in grade 10 means seeing each other at school and texting or facebooking in the evenings. Because let’s face it, most parents aren’t going to drive their kids to dates. And yet, to them, these relationships to them are extremely serious. They don’t  have the perspective to realize there’s a difference from being in a relationship in grade 10 and when you’re twenty. They don’t have the maturity to realize how immature they are, in other words.

I’m under no pretenses myself. I know that I’m only 15 (yeah, skipped a grade) and I don’t have the kind of maturity to give to a relationship that I would when I’m a few years older. But at least I’m smart enough to know my own maturity level. Sure, the idea of having a boyfriend is nice. But I wouldn’t be about to sacrifice music or school for one. It’s so hard to have your priorities straight in high school, and yet it’s the time when it counts for the most.

Currently the drama in our school is who’s asking or will ask who to the Christmas banquet, which is a formal dinner and dance in a few weeks. According to a lot of people, if you don’t get asked you’re a ‘loser’ because there are more guys than girls in this school.

Actually, if you don’t get asked, it means you don’t straighten your hair, wear mascara, and talk a mile a minute. It means you are not the ‘normal’, and that pisses me off.

There are so few intelligent people in our school. There are smart people, but that’s superficial. There are nice people, but not really wise people. I can think of maybe one … which is kind of sad. I mean, yes, I go to a small private school (under 200) and so it’s a smaller pool to draw from. But there should be more than one.

That, I think, is the main reason I don’t have a boyfriend. To me, a relationship would be more about the mental than the physical. I’d want I guy I could talk to, really talk to, who would understand me and my thoughts and how that would matter more than what I looked like.

I’m sure there are some of you who are thinking, “Right. Maybe you’re just coming up with all this bull because you’re too ugly to get a guy,”

Well, I’m not ugly. I don’ t even really look like a nerd. Physical description? I’m tall and skinny, I have short-ish blonde wavy hair, and greeny-brown eyes. I don’t have serious acne, a broken nose, or some disfiguration. By all standards, I would be considered pretty. I mean, I have braces, but so what? A ton of highschoolers do these days. If I wanted a boyfriend, looks wouldn’t be an issue.

I’m not self-centered or trying to brag. I’m just self-aware, which is a very rare commodity in my high-school. I’m dying for some intelligent conversation here.

Keep checking for the next instalment about Cafeterias: Who's Brilliant Idea Was It Anyways?

The Beginning

So, just so you know, this is a real diary. It's not a story made to seem real by posting it in blog form. You'll know because my life is not nearly as crazy as fiction. I am a writer. This is who I am. It is as much a part of me as my arm or my leg. I am not writing this blog to get attention, to be popular, to have millions of readers. I am posting it to share a small, but very intimate piece of myself. So read on, if you dare.

But first ... a few things you should know about me. Just so we get off on the right foot:

-I'm in highschool, and I'm not in Grade 9,10 or 12. 

-I have a pretty regular family, with mom & dad, 2 brothers, and 3 dogs. 

-I'm a self-declared nerd. Even though in high school people seem to avoid brilliance like the plague, there's something to be said for having a brain and using it too. 

-Highschool is not my thing. At all. Hence the title. Sure, I may do well in all my classes, but to me the whole idea of stuffing hundreds of teenagers in a building and expecting them to ignore all peer pressure and temptations to focus on school is -- well -- flawed. I'm not one of those perfect girls—you know them—the ones with the perfectly straightened hair, every mascarad eyelash in place, involved in every single club, sport, and extra-curricular known to man. The only thing I do in school is music. Which leads me to my last point ...

-I'm a music nerd. I play piano, violin, and sing, and I have been since I was eight, five, and forever, respectively. 

Oh, and one last last thing ... I'm pretty easygoing ... I get along with most things and most people ... but there is one thing I absolutely cannot stand ... and that is "normal" in all it's shapes and forms. Normal is just a setting on the dryer. 

Stay tuned for the next instalment, otherwise known as The Rediculousness of Relationships in Grade 10 and Why I Have Not Had A Boyfriend Yet