Articulations from the Extroverted Introvert

Senioritis.

Wikipedia: Senioitis is a term used colloquially in the United States and Canada to describe the decreased motivation towards studies displayed by students who are nearing the end of their high school or college careers.

Urban Dictionary: Senioritis is a crippling disease that strikes high school seniors. Symptoms include: laziness, an over-excessive wearing of track pants, old athletic shirts, sweatpants, athletic shorts, and sweatshirts. Also features a lack of studying, repeated absences, and a generally dismissive attitude. The only known cure is a phenomenon known as Graduation.

TIME Magazine: Senioritis attacks high-achieving, average and struggling students alike. Early symptoms of the disease–lethargy, lack of focus, difficulty making decisions–often appear in the fall. By spring the average, healthy high school senior may have completely succumbed. By this time in the school year, most college-bound seniors have turned in their applications and received their acceptance letters. Many of them understandably feel entitled to a little downtime.

USA Today: Senioritis — that “been there, done that” feeling that hits seniors during their final semester of high school — is a cultural rite of passage for those at the college threshold. Despite debate and research aimed at improving the experience, a 2001 report issued by the National Commission on the High School Senior Year suggested that many students believe the senior year is a waste.

Senioritis. I have been told that I am the textbook example of what that looks like. For those of you that have been around know that 1st semester I thought quite seriously about graduating at semester because it has gotten so bad.

My symptoms: basically wear sweatshirts and t-shirts everyday, come to school and talk about hating it, have no motivation, have been accepted to where I am going to school next year, have quit a bunch of activities that I don’t care about, never study, dropped my first class ever, miss multiple days a semester, and have even “skipped” once thus far. Senioritis.

Lyrics from Apathetic Way to Be by Relient K

If there is one thing that I am just plain lousy at, it would be public speeches. I truly believe it is that introvertedness that has been a part of me since day one. Of course, many people fear public speaking for any number of reasons, so I am no one special. I’m not even sure what it is for me. I could normally carry on some sort of a conversation with about everybody in a given room, but not in large group settings. I shakily stammer through whatever I have to say, anxious for it to be over, however I am actually more nervous after the speech than before. My shaking increases, my cheeks flush, my stomach does flip-flops, and all I can think about is what I just said and how horrible I did. Performing for show choir or in skits I never get this way. An excited nervousness, sure, but nothing like this.  

All that being said, I am in a class this semester called public speaking. Thus far we have only given 1-minute speeches that have been crazy easy. (Don’t worry though, because I got just as nervous as always.) Our first “real” speech is to be an informational speech about whatever we want (school appropriate). The first thing I thought to do was a speech about blogging. I was “doing research” today during class, and by that I mean that I was reading blogs. I loved it. Consequently, I ended up showing my teacher mine and allowed her to read a post or two to prove that I was really doing something the least bit relevant.

If you are reading this than you have some sort of an opinion about blogs. Leave me a quote, answer one of these questions, whatever…just please - I’m asking you to help me out here even though I normally try to stay away from asking for help. What is it you like about blogs? Do you read more or write more? How does it make you feel? When did you start blogging and with what (livejournal, xanga, wordpress, myspace…whew that one’s a bit of a stretch)? Who’s blog do you read? What is your favorite part about the blogs you read? Style? Pictures in blogs? How often should one post a blog each week? Should blogs be primarily original or merely display lyrics and poems of someone else? How do you feel about people using it as a day planner essentially (i.e. “Today I did this with so-and-so. It was way fun! I love them! Yesterday…I went to work, watched tv, ate dinner, and went to bed…etc.”) What do you think about the risk of putting your emotions and thoughts online (or as my comp. teacher once asked, “Isn’t it easy to become an emotional blog slut?”)?  Does blogging take up all of your free time? What?

What is blogging to you?

Lyrics from Drive by Incubus

Warning: The following blog may offend you or your mother, in which case, tell your mother I am sorry. 

Will someone please explain to me why we have toilet seat covers? Yes, I said it. Not only do I find them pointless but absolutely revolting.  They come in all sorts of designs and colors. There’s the matching seat cover and rug, the funny print ones, the floral disasters, and the ever popular singing holiday covers. But why?

Whether lifting it or putting it down, you are touching whatever that nylon lid cover has soaked up while resting in its place. Sick. The simple solution might be to limit the amount of times you put the seat up or down, but then you cannot see the design that matches the rest of your bathroom. Therefore, you are going to have to put it up and down before and after each use. Are you kidding me? I do not want to put my hands on that! Yuck!

 Gross. Nasty. Repulsive. Disgusting. Revolting. Sick.

Lyrics from Fish Eyes by Pep Squad

Direct quote from my mother:
“You kinda look beat up because of the dark circles under your eyes. The healthier thing to do is get some more sleep, but maybe you should try wearing make-up sometime.”

Haha that’s great. You know it’s bad when your mom is saying you need make-up in order to avoid scaring people.

I blame my lack of sleep on my daily/nightly stomach aches. I really don’t understand why I continue to get these. I’ve been to a few different doctors, had some annoying tests done, and taken medicine. I stay away from coffee, popcorn, pop, excessively greasy foods, milk products, seemingly acidic foods, and whatever else that makes me think it could later cause pain. Basically I just eat bread. What the heck?

Lyrics from Icecubes and Eggshells by Scenic Sideshow

Sometimes I wonder about… Predestination. Fate. Serendipity. Coincidence.

The following notion somewhat baffles me. I questioned its authenticity until I came to the conclusion that it is going to have to be one of those things you don’t take too seriously.

Recently, I found out that my friend’s mom is going to have a baby in a few months. Upon hearing this exciting news on a Grey’s Anatomy night, we were introduced to the pencil trick. It was weird that in a room of six girls none of us had heard of this one. Assuming you are unfamiliar with said trick, let me explain a little further. Apparently, you take a sharpened pencil and insert a threaded needle in the middle of the eraser. Then, while dangling the pencil upside down and clutching the string you place it above someone’s wrist with their palm facing up. If the pencil sways side to side (across wrist), then the baby will be a girl, and if the pencil swings up and down (wrist to elbow) it’s a boy. Also, it will tell you all the babies you will have by spinning in the middle in between children. Once there are no more children the pencil stops swaying.

We were all in disbelief of such trick. Some might say well, there’s a 50/50 chance, but it is really odd to hear women say the exact order was right. How could that be? Curious to learn more of this pencil trick I looked it up online and found dozens of women say it was entirely right. One lady said that before she was married, when she dated guys she would do the pencil trick without explaining what it meant to see if their order and amount of children were the same. Her (now) husband’s was. That’s just one of the many stories. Another lady wrote that she owns a baby store and has done this trick over 200 times with women and all have them have been right. I was so intrigued that I tried the trick on my mom and sure enough, all girls.

Now, that entire group of friends wants to try it out to see how many and the gender of kids we’ll have. That is so weird. I am unsure what to think about it. What do you think? Possible? Crazy? Stupid? Impossible?

Lyrics from Sweet Sweet Baby by Michelle Featherstone.

I am going to write a book. Not one to be published or anything like that, but I am going to write one. Who knows when it will be done or how it will end up. It most likely will be something that I am extremely proud of for about a month before realizing its insignificance and denying any connection to it, because it is so poorly done. Regardless, I am writing one. Just you wait.

Lyrics from True Story by Ginny Owens  

If there’s one thing you should know about girls, it’s that they’ve all had their weddings planned since they were five, whether they have a groom in mind or not. I am totally serious about this too. Some of course have it more planned out than others, but they all have some sort of idea in their head of what they want for this “magical and wonderful” day years down the line.

Every girl knows the kind of dress they want to be wearing when they walk down the aisle those short moments when everyone’s attention is on her. The bridesmaid dresses will all be a certain color, and then what flavor of cake? Once that’s decided, there’s the flower arragements to consider, as well as the season, time of day, type of ceremony …blah blah blah. And then for some - the best part, the song for the daddy/daughter dance. Butterfly kisses is always a favorite selection there, among many other wonderful songs about the oh-so-special relationship between a daughter and her dad. It may describe their relationship to a “t” or just talk of what a great life it is when they are together.

Mine is Daughters by John Mayer, which is nothing like what I just described this type of song to be, however it is a beautiful song. It’s purpose would not be the same, because the purpose could not be the same. For many people, that dance is a cherished moment for both of them, as they remember all of the special times they have shared together over the years. It is to symbolize the last time a father will get to have his little girl to himself before giving her away to her husband. Mine isn’t about all of the special times, but rather has a realistic story and a chorus that is repeated over and over again for every other father in the room. One that every father needs to hear.

“Fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters, too”

When I grow up I think I want to be the butter cow lady. Because really how cool is that?

The butter is so squishy against your fingers. It doesn’t even wash off very well. The smell stays there for weeks. You are stuck in a refrigerator to sculpt it. Then every year you have to do it all over again. But you get to go around saying “I’m the butter cow lady!”

 Where can I sign up?

Lyrics from a hidden track by Downhere

Have you ever been so utterly frustrated with something that all you want to do is give up? No matter how great the reward, it no longer seems worth it? You just want to throw in the towel and forget you even attempted? But “you have to,” there’s no getting out at this point. You’ve worked too hard for too long to let this all go to waste.

So your eyes become weary and the typing becomes slower. No speech is omitted; it almost feels as if your lips are stuck in that position forever. A small but ever-growing headache begins to penetrate the middle of your forehead. Your eyes strain to focus on what is in front of you until your vision becomes blurry.

You could quit and go to bed for now, but what’s the use? It will be the same all over again tomorrow.

Lyrics from Is It Any Wonder by Nichole Nordeman  

Writing is something that is very vulnerable. The more a person writes, the more they reveal about themselves even if they try to be incredibly discreet. It is almost scary. I have yet to decide quite how I feel about this.

After school today I did something a little out of the ordinary for me - I checked the mailbox before going to work.  This is extremely abnormal for me. In fact, most days I go straight to work, and I am not entirely sure what made me stop at home first today. In the mailbox I found a few random postcards and letters from colleges, a check from work, my report card, and another piece of mail unfamiliar to me. On my five minute drive to work: the things from colleges went in the trash, the check was stored safely away until I go to the bank tomorrow, the report card was quickly checked, and then I reached for that one envelope that was not rectangular, but square.

Inside, I found a letter saying that I was a semi-finalist in a poetry contest and that they wanted to publish my poem. I could not contain my laughter at I looked at what was before me. Me? In a poetry contest? Couldn’t be! There was a copy of the poem I submitted attached to the letter and after glancing at it I realized how this happened. A few weeks ago, I was signing up for a membership to a scholarship search website, and as I was filling out the form they asked for random things like a poem and a picture you’ve taken. In my haste I grabbed a notebook full of random writing samples and typed in the shortest one I had. Now, I am to be published? And in a book titled “Immortal Verses”? How hilarious is that? I most definitely find it funny.

It’s totally one of those scams where they ask you to pay $50 for the book so you can keep the cherished item forever! This hot item will be going fast, so make sure to order enough for everybody you know to show them you’ve been published! You can have them type in a bio next to your poem for an additional $25, but then don’t forget the covering! You can get that engraved for an extra $30! Gold pages are only $20 more! As you might have guessed, I will not be paying them a dime. However, from now on I will be able to say that I’ve been published. I can’t wait to tell Grandma; she’ll be so proud!

Lyrics from Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield