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