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Teenage_Grammar_Whore
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Name: Jenna.
Metro:
Gender: Female
Interests: Music, British accents, studying languages, old films, Europe, other cultures, good literature, history, the classics, Victor Hugo, masquerade, geekliness, Broadway, uniqueness, liberation, politics, cats, black and white, psychology, flutes, musical instruments, the Internet, sight-reading, general nonsensicality, philosophical conversations at three in the morning, House MD, Scrubs, writing, nerdy board games, biology, listening to people, watching the night sky, and most importantly: you.
Expertise: Anything you can do, I can do better...
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  TheferretAttacks
Member Since:
4/20/2005
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| Tomorrow, I head off to the land of college -- free from this tiny town of which I have moaned over the past four and a quarter years; free from parental restrictions; into the deep world of Being Responsible For Myself. Thus, the time has come: I am retiring my Xanga. Of course, my past entries will be compiled for my record, but in the end, it seems to be the right time to say goodbye. It has chronicled my memories of junior and senior high school, and now the page must be turned, figuratively and literally, into a new Book II. If you're still interested in following me, the address is skulllduggery.tumblr.com. If not, then please, I bid you a Wonderful Life. Best, Jenna (nee Teenage_Grammar_Whore) | | |
| Life is happening really fast all of a sudden. | | |
| The other morning, when I was awake at 4:30 AM and roasting and boiling in my own flesh because it was 90 degrees out (us New Yorkers haven't seen a day above 83 in many moons [even though last summer was boiling hot (cold winters take the life out of me)]) and my bedroom was a veritable pressure cooker, my brain did some funny things. I mean, of course, your brain does funny things anyway when the temperature is that high and you're probably more than a little dehydrated because you usually pee about every hour and a half but you haven't done so in four hours and you're awake at 4:30 in the morning when most people have either been asleep for a long while or are just waking up for their jobs (goodspeed, ye unfortunate souls). Mine does funny things anyway; any longtime reader of mine can vouch for that. (NYSSMA monologue, anyone?) Thus,. when you combine a ridiculous hour with ridiculously hot temperatures with no sleep with dehydration with insane boredness, you get...
...a monologue about nose-picking.
Yes, I am being completely serious. I think it was originally an idea for a Facebook group, but nonetheless, it went something like this:
When people hear about nose-picking, they go "eww, you slob!" or "aww, what a cute four-year-old. Don't do that if you want to have friends or be respectable." Yes, it is pretty gross. Nobody wants to touch your hand after it's been exploring the caverns of dust, mucus, and various inhaled detritus. But still...sometimes it's inevitable. Who hasn't found themselves needing to pick their nose before, whether you were two or fifty?
Say you're in a class and you have to do a presentation today. Golly, it's so important that it just so happens to be deciding twenty percent of your grade for the semester! Why, you have to do a good job and be taken seriously. As you sit in that stupor unique to boring classes which combines utter apathy and rigid tension at knowing that no matter how much you hate this class, it is necessary to graduate, you inhale. It's what humans do without a thought until oh no! Something dangles as you breathe in. And then out. It's fluttering in the breeze like a dead leaf on a tree. Flutter. Flutter. Wheeze. Nobody will take you seriously with a giant clump of snot dangling from your nostril! Snapping from the torpor of resting on your balled-up fist through presentations, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to inspect the problem: there it is, giant and yellow-green, obvious. (There may also be a handprint from where your cheek was being contorted as you sat half-asleep, half-rigid.) Take some toilet paper and blow. Trumpeting. Satisfied that it must be gone you check your reflection as you chuck the toilet tissue -- tissue in more than one way! -- into the bin.
YOUR JAW DROPS! THE BOOGER IS STILL THERE! It must have an AC roll higher than your dreams.
As much as you don't want to, you know that there is only one solution. That last nose-blow was an epic, it could have frightened off three-hundred Spartans. But you don't want to. You were taught against it as a kid. Your peers in elementary school made fun of so-and-so they hated by calling him/her "Nosepicker." But you can't help it...that presentation is important...
Back into the stall you venture for some more TP to protect your finger from disease vectors. Or maybe you're a real man and you go bare-fingered. Taking a deep breath, you go for the plunge. Your finger meets the membrane of your nostril in order to vanquish its foe to respectability. Dig around...scrape...aha! Come out, come out, wherever you are. The offending booger is free! You may now chuck the TP into the bin (again), return to class, and ace your presentation. Occasionally, nose-picking is necessary for success. Don't knock it. Just wash your hands when you're done.
So anyway, my life is getting better. Still no word from my grandfather about co-signing my loans and getting me into college in nine days. I am very stressed. But otherwise, things are okay. Girlfriend and I are doing very well and in fact she sent me a six-month gift in the mail and we had a lovely conversation last night about how you gallblad someone (don't ask [although it kind of reminds me of Vlad the Impaler]). Today I am going mini-golfing with Robert and a few people because we're awesome like that and then I finally get to watch Watchmen. Saturday is the Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert! I can't complain about anything, really, except for that dratted loan crap, but whatever happens will happen. I shan't be happy about staying home for another year, but with a job maybe I won't have to pay as many loans out of pocket next year. Besides, there are so many credits under my belt from high school that I'll be ahead by almost a year and won't lose any time -- in fact, if I take on more credits than normal next year in addition to some summer classes the following summer, I should still be on track. It will suck to stay home, but it's just another hurdle to deal with. In the end, I am confident that it will all be okay.
EDIT!: I was just re-reading the Questionable Content archives and, as a D&D nerd, this comic made my life a better place:
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| I hope this isn't an overabundance of recent entries; most likely, it is. I write a lot in the summer, and I write a lot when I am hurting, and when the two combine it makes for a sickening cataclysm of woebegone blitherings of a lonely teenage girl. This is probably the reason why I have lost the great majority of my readership, but that doesn't bother me anymore. No longer is my writing for an audience; it is for myself. Selfishness abounds. Steadily crazier do I go.
So many things are keeping me awake in the hours I should be sleeping. Sleep has escaped me for the past three days, or at least, steady sleep has (naps don't count). Too much has been on my mind, too much cluttering a brain that should be used for thinking and solving rather than angst and stagnance. At the moment, my legs are covered in fifteen (15) mosquito bites that I got in one night sitting outside on the porch trying to get an internet connection so that I could talk to Jennifer because I was having a shitty day, anyway. They itch as if to remind me that in one day we've gone from great to bad, even though she says we'll be okay I still feel like everything is always my fault. They're throbbing and pale.
I miss you. Although I have accepted that you will probably never want to speak to me again, I still miss you. So much. Some days more than others. My biggest wish is a response; perhaps I need a good cry to really get over that you don't consider me your friend anymore. We had never gone this long -- nineteen days -- without speaking. Ever. Not since we met in 2003. And even if it was too awkward for you to handle that I love you as much as I do it still isn't fair for you to say nothing at all, to leave me hanging without a response besides "you'll never be okay with me." But even after this last year and a half of rockiness and a certain inevitability, I still miss you so much. You always gave me a laugh and a shoulder. I thought I added to your life and meant something to you. Life goes on. I wish you were in mine, but you aren't, and I accept that. But I miss you.
Two weeks before I'm supposed to be starting a new life, why has my old one come crashing down?
What if everyone's pillows were connected to a pipe, and when you cry all of your tears would flow down that pipe into a sewer? How full would it be? Would there be enough saltwater to fill the oceans? Would there be enough to install hydropower into New York City? What about if the world was happy and there were no tears? Would the piping system be used for something else, like waterslides? Which houses would be flooded? Then you could tell who really was happy. My pillow wouldn't be saturated when I cry at night because a giant sponge would absorb everything down into that pipe. Maybe all of that time and energy that people spend crying could be put to some good in the world. Nothing would be wasted. Everything might turn out all right. | | |
| Every time I go a couple of weeks without posting -- which happens with a distressing increase of frequency -- it seems as though one of two things will happen: my next entry will be either clever, witty, entertaining and inspired, or it will be pensive and speculative about how the past few weeks have changed me and blah blah, neither of which anyone reads anyway. I'm going to try and avoid that, but hey, we both know it'll happen. That's just who I am, and you, dear Xanga, having been the pool of my thoughts for more than four years now, are aware of that better than anyone.
I went to my first real concert on Thursday! Elaboration: I have been to a couple of Pink Floyd cover band shows (with a lot of old men who smoke too much dope and wear entirely too much tye-dye *twirls finger*) which were nice but nothing of this variety, nothing with standing room and dancing and people to jump up and down with. It was Reel Big Fish and the English Beat and I like ska and ska-nking and it was tons of fun to let loose and dance and have a blast with Robert (which happens all too rarely nowadays) and hang with Becca and ya, good experience even if I came out of it covered in sweat that was not mine. It was a nice evening after my disaster of a grad party and fun all around, even if Robert's step-sister and girlfriend were looking down my shirt the entire car ride there. Apparently, I have a nice rack.
Otherwise...nothin' too eventful's been happening. I've made some friends and lost a friend, it would seem. Been doing a lot of talking to people from and preparing for college. Established that I am, in fact, going to co-captain the Quidditch club this year because it went obsolete last year and needs a crazy leader to pick it up out of the pitch. Subsequently learned that I might not be able to go to college because of loan issues (again *facepalm*) and am currently working to remedy the problem, even if it requires selling my soul, because dammit, I am NOT giving up. There are some things I am going to miss about home, such as my cats and having a private room and a bathroom that I won't be afraid to go twosies in, but there's also so much freedom, good and bad, accompanying going to college. In general, the majority of my life here is worth abandoning. I'm already evaluating who is worth keeping around and talking to, as this is a great experience to completely reinvent myself, and after I move in there will be no more reason to keep around anybody for pretentious reasons. My hair has gone from purple to red to tan to blonde to green to blue to turqouise and I'm thinking pink is next, and my girlfriend and I are going on six months on Saturday, which is longer than I would ever have thought a relationship of mine could last this early in life (and it's not even all that lengthy). All in all, I am trying to pick up and move on and grow, even if sometimes there is a gaping hole in my heart for nostalgia. I am becoming a new and better person, and she seems pretty rad so far. | | |
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