INDIEchouette

Today, in the car, I considered this revival of my self, or I guess myself.  I was thinking about people who act themselves and 99% of the time don’t restrain themselves, or rather, who are not fake.  They voice their opinons, make themselves heard, and let people know what kind of mood they’re in instead of trying to conceal it.  And why the fuck not?  A few people whizzed around in my brain, but they were detached, fuzzy, and frankly, I didn’t care about them at all.  Then someone incredibly genuine came to mind, someone who, not only is she always her genuine self, but she’s also incredibly loyal, a great friend, who is, in fact, the only person in the world who can tell what kind of a mood I’m in without only extremely subtle hints, because she’s very detail-oriented.

This isn’t just a flattery blog either, for a best friend…it’s not that I felt an obligation to write about her because I haven’t done so yet…it’s a gratitude blog as much as it is a completely relevant record of a mark in my life, where I’m trying to figure myself out, and Divya has always been there as the symbol of truth and just honesty right under my nose.  She knows what other people think of her, and whether that’s good or bad, she doesn’t care, but it’s not a broody rock-hard type of don’t care; it’s a really flimsy, liquidy, almost pleasant and laughing type of don’t care, where if she needed to, she could care, but she doesn’t need to, so she doesn’t.  But I think more people should appreciate her than not because she’s real.  And I find it interesting because while she’s somewhat outgoing (or talkative, I guess) in certain social situations, and she makes her mind known, there’s so much that nobody else knows about her, likely not even me.  And every day, you find out something new and appreciate her more.  I love having intelligent conversation, even in the mornings when I probably look and sound like I could care less.  I think tree talk is funny, even with my occasional halfhearted chuckles.  And man, this is going to sound fucking borderline homosexual, but I don’t care–I’ll say what I want on my own blog!  You can tell all this by the lack of imputiries in her eyes, especially in the sunlight, where it’s a rich milk chocolate tinged maybe with some caramel?  But the caramel’s mixed in really well.  And her eyes are framed by thick black eyelashes, and protected by good-shaped eyebrows (I am obsessive over eyebrows).  It doesn’t matter if she has to wear contacts or glasses to see; she still has gorgeous eyes.

Be pertinent or be silent.

I’m in a super mood right now.  I think for the past week, I’ve actually been real for the first time in a while.  The people who annoy me, I brush them off my shoulders because I don’t feel like putting up with any more bullshit.   I don’t feel like pretending I care anymore, and I hate having to fake laugh and paste a gaddamn fake smile on my face and look forward to 5 minutes from now or 10 minutes from then.  So instead, I skip all that crap and just do what I’m thinking in my head.  I can have a good time right now.  Of course, I know that in expressing myself a little more, I’m also invading other people’s territory, mainly via MySpace with ugly and lengthy comments, but I feel really giddy and rejuvenated and energized, so I feel like I need to tell someone.  At least it’s not in their faces, though.  They can read and respond if they want to, or if they feel polite, but they certainly don’t have to.  And I don’t really care if they don’t; my impression of myself is that I’m not too cute or bright or interesting, but that’s okay in a transition period, and during this transition, I actually don’t care what anyone else thinks about me.  That’s not to say I’m not putting in an effort and washing myself; I like to feel clean, and I like to see my acne disappear daily as I use Noxzema and moisturizer, and I like to look pretty and awake.  And, you know, as my mother reminds me whenever she catches me without makeup on, or when my hair’s looking oily, or when I’m just wearing a tee shirt, I have to at least keep up my appearances for Derek, whether it be for his satisfaction or so that other people aren’t calling me ugly.  Or both.

Actually, I never thought I’d say this, ever.  But I’m making one small attempt at finding myself.  And the first thing I have to do is act like myself consistently around everyone.

One of the main triggers for this was my mother asking about the girls.  Marty and E-Dawg and why we haven’t chilled in a while.  Just writing that down, I feel a catch in my throat, no exaggeration.  See, as much as my mother may want me to hang out with juniors who will go to the mall and take me to Hollister, as much as she wants me to hang out with “normal” girls not involved with the animal rights movement and the outlandish music I listen to…or maybe real studious girls who are smart and read a lot and don’t have a sense of style at all…now she understands why I hang out with them, and that would be because we have similar interests.  Do I have any major factor in my life in common with any junior I’ve met yet thus far?  No.  Well, okay, one, but I couldn’t carry a conversation with him.  Doesn’t matter, anyway.

Dude, I DON’T FEEL LIKE WRITING THIS ANYMORE.  I’m fucking happy, man.  Fuck this.  But I do miss my girls, a lot.

[18:44] indiechouette: d00d
[18:44] indiechouette: i just had a revelation
[18:44] indiechouette: and you’re going to question my intelligence, maybe, for asking this
[18:44] indiechouette: but
[18:44] indiechouette: or, well, stating it
[18:44] indiechouette: but
[18:44] indiechouette: you know how in spanish, “burro” means donkey/ass?
[18:44] indiechouette: or mule
[18:44] indiechouette: or w/e?
[18:44] Mastashake91: yeah
[18:45] indiechouette: well, maybe i should have started with this
[18:45] indiechouette: the normal word for brother is hermano
[18:45] indiechouette: but
[18:45] indiechouette: when you’re talking about a little brother, you call him a hermanito
[18:45] indiechouette: so
[18:45] indiechouette: burro + ito = burrito
[18:45] indiechouette: eeehhh?
[18:45] Mastashake91: haha
[18:45] Mastashake91: uhh
[18:45] Mastashake91: idk
[18:45] indiechouette: i dunno either
[18:46] Mastashake91: never thought of it like that
[18:46] indiechouette: i was just thinking…MAYBE that’s how it got the name, but then i dunno, how is that like a little mule?
[18:46] indiechouette: unLESS
[18:46] indiechouette: it’s because it carries many ingredients, like packmules carry many things
[18:47] Mastashake91: i think you’re thinking about this too hard
[18:47] indiechouette: probably
[18:47] indiechouette: haha
[18:47] Mastashake91:
[18:47] indiechouette:
[18:48] indiechouette: OH, WIKIPEDIA!
[18:48] indiechouette: The word burrito literally means “little donkey” in Spanish. The name burrito possibly derives from the appearance of a rolled up wheat tortilla, which vaguely resembles the ear of its namesake animal, or from bedrolls and packs that burros carried.
[18:48] Mastashake91: what would we do without wiki
[18:48] indiechouette: sweet mother
[18:49] Mastashake91: YOU’RE A GENIUS PAIGE
[18:49] indiechouette: and i’ve gone sixteen years without knowing why a burrito was called a burrito…when i could have just looked on wikipedia
[18:49] Mastashake91: YOU SOLVED IT
[18:49] indiechouette: hahahaha
[18:49] indiechouette: we just figured out blue’s clues!
[18:49] Mastashake91: that’s like solving the rubiks cube
[18:49] Mastashake91: good work
[18:49] indiechouette: hah, THX
[18:50] Mastashake91: ROFL
[18:50] indiechouette: LOLZ
[18:50] Mastashake91: IWBLHBMCIAAIDWTWH
[18:51] Mastashake91: (I would be laughing harder but my cat is asleep and I don’t want to wake him)
[18:51] Mastashake91: beat it sucka
[18:51] indiechouette: what, what you just wrote?
[18:51] indiechouette: OH
[18:52] indiechouette: i’m dumb
[18:52] Mastashake91: dood
[18:52] Mastashake91: you know what
[18:52] Mastashake91: just forget it
[18:52] Mastashake91: oh my gawd
[18:52] indiechouette: =\
[18:52] Mastashake91: you can figure out the mystery of a burrito
[18:52] Mastashake91: but man
[18:52] indiechouette: LO SIENTO
[18:52] indiechouette: SEN(~)OR!
[18:53] indiechouette: NO HABLO ESPAN(~)OL
[18:53] indiechouette: YO HABLO FRANCE(‘)S
[18:53] indiechouette: YO NO SOY ESTUPIDA
[18:53] Mastashake91: it’s stupida
[18:53] indiechouette: JE PROMIS
[18:53] indiechouette: WHATEVER

I’m glad my fanbase is going down a lot, really…not.

As I wrote yesterday (maybe…I’m not sure if I included this detail), Alexa had a sleepover last night with one of her good friends. Good friend = annoying girl who abuses Alexa into thinking she’s her friend when she’s really not. How do I know? That’s how some of my friends were in third or so grade. I really hate watching it happen to Alexa, and I know how it feels to have someone discourage you from hanging out with them when you think the offender is a friend, but really, most of her friends have committed offenses towards me, such as pushiness, rudeness, animal abuse with the cats, and general stupidness, as though their parents never taught them manners. So I feel obliged to tell her off for hanging out with them. Also, in this area, I think it’s hard to find real, non-annoying friends until you hit about 7th grade.

Well, when my dad picked me up from Derek’s, he told me that this particular friend of Alexa’s (we’ll call her Betsy) was sleeping over, and that they were upstairs washing Neopets in the bathroom or something. This would all have been fine and good if they were using soap and if the Neopets were plastic instead of plush. When I got home, though, Rachael alerted me that they’d used Step 1 of Proactiv (the peroxide, yeah), my peppermint shampoo that I’d received for Christmas, shaving cream, shampoo, and special soap that was my mother’s. I blew this off as generally dumb, since Rachael and I used to wash Barbies in the sink all the time when we were little, and quite frankly, I was too relaxed/tired to even give half a shit. Rachael was concerned, though, so I decided to give like a quarter of a shit because I knew Alexa’s nature of making concoctions and ruining shit that wasn’t hers.

So in the morning, after I found out that some little fucker had peed on my bed (a cat, of course) and decided that I needed to wash my pants after like a week of wearing them, I went into the bathroom to get some more darks out of the hamper. What I found in the hamper was enough to make your average housewife have a fit and then maybe go into seizures. There were two damp towels in there (which turned out to be almost dripping wet) that had leaked their water and their pungent, shampoo-y aroma onto all the clothes in the basket. This, of course, causes mold, and I don’t know about you, but I hate moldy clothes. You can’t always get the smell out. After picking up the shampoo scent, though, I decided that I’d better evaluate the damage to our supply of sanitary products. I shook all the bottles to realize that half of what was left of my 24-oz peppermint shampoo was gone, meaning they’d used a good quarter of the bottle like 6 oz. Man, that’s about the size of a whole bottle of Chloraseptic. Most of my mom’s soap was gone, I was missing some contact solution, a good portion of conditioner was gone (which, combined with peppermint, was what made the smell), the brand new shaving cream was completely gone…I thought I was going to bust a cap!

Since my mom would have normally yelled at Alexa for being stupid beyond belief–or not let her go into the bathroom with Jessica and Neopets at all–I decided that just telling her about all my evaluations would be good enough. My mom, by the way, is in Pennsylvania this weekend. Okay. Alex, though, fell into a defensive crying mode, which, crying and laughter make my father angry, so I was the one who got in trouble. This, though, is a man who gets his hair cut at Wal-Mart, where they’ll accidentally shave off your sideburns, who would be content using cucumber melon hotel shampoo and handsoap as his only sanitary products for the rest of his life. So he didn’t understand my/Rachael’s plight to correct this situation. He ended up getting pissed off at me and Rachael for attempting to wash her Neopets for real (which, at this point, were probably growing some mutated fungus in the depths of their stuffing stomachs), getting pissed at Rachael for getting pissed at him, getting pissed at me for yelling at him for not supervising them and not caring that she’d wasted probably $30 worth of money on some joyride Neopet washing ceremony with her dumbest friend (I was out, so I couldn’t watch them/that friend is incorrigible, so I probably wouldn’t have been able to do anything/why would he even let her have a sleepover when my mom’s not home and he doesn’t have the capacity to watch them?), and getting pissed at Alexa for crying, and then yelling at Alexa to go downstairs and finish her breakfast when she suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore–as if he cared about wasting food/money when he just let her get away with all that crap she did last night.

Yes, that’s what it would be like if I just lived with my father.

Over the past three or so years, as Alexa has settled down into a permanent clique of friends, I’ve come to realize how much I hate her friends. I understand that the 5-year age gap probably has a lot to do with this, but just the same, I feel like she and her friends are a part of a completely different generation from me and Rachael. I mean, Rachael and I grew up with Power Rangers and Barbies, not at all reliant on computers for our childhoods. In fact, we didn’t have NetZero until I was like eight, and it wasn’t until last year that we had wireless and Comcast, so that we could get online (on multiple computers!) whenever we wanted without it interfering with the phones. I was probably fifteen when I got a computer in my room. Alexa was nine or ten. She’s a part of the technology age, where she gets on Neopets for amusement and has never had to use her imagination a day in her life. I suppose it’s good for me that I grew up alongside technology as I did, because I was thus granted the opportunity to learn to become independent and use my imagination and appreciate playing outdoor games all year, but at the same time, it allowed my mind to expand with the expansion of culture and the WWW. I feel like my generation is more appreciative than the next.

I also know that my generation is/was far more polite and pristine than the “next” generation. At a young age, I didn’t much care for video games; I was a girly girl in every aspect. I didn’t learn about the word “fuck” I guess until freshman year, and I didn’t take up cussing my heart out until mid-sophomore year. I now use my words sparingly except when I’m playing Guitar Hero II and missing tons of notes. Almost anyone can vouch for this. Back to my point. I guess I was raised well or maybe born with a few more ounces of self-discipline than Rachael was, or maybe it was because I was the oldest and thus had no elder siblings to teach/ruin me, but my mother always says that I’m the polite one out of us three. I ask permission, I do what’s asked of me, I thank my parents for everything from rides to meals to tangible items, I’m quite patient, and I’m not particularly obnoxious. Other people don’t typically realize this, mostly because I’m very timid, and while I’m swimming in pools of gratitude, I lose my cool and sometimes come off as being quite brusque. Rachael and Alexa are both kind of polite, but both of them have a sense of edge and outgoingness, and a sort of definite defiance that I’ve never had or, as my mom puts it, I’d “never dream of” committing some of the microinequities they do. I’m proud.

Back to Alexa’s stupid little friends. They’re obnoxious, loud, and rude. Rachael and I were playing GH one night when one was sleeping over, and she and Alexa wanted to play, but it’s our house and we were in Rachael’s room, which is the rightful home of the PS2, and this little bitch asked us to “hurry up.” That’s all fine and good, but when you’re talking to someone five years your senior who lives here and doesn’t feel like taking crap late at night from little elementary school losers who collect Neopets…it’s best you have a little respect and be very, very polite. Or else you’re not going to get what you want, period, and as an added bonus, you might wake up in the middle of the night and find your hand in a cup of water and then realize you pissed your sleeping bag.

I wouldn’t really do that to anyone, and hopefully, no one would do that to me, because it’s a bitch to get the scent of pee out of the carpets, and furthermore, it’s a bitch to clean yourself up after you’ve wet your pants.

My point? My sister is real cute, but she has bad decision-making skills because her friends are all exceptionally annoying. If there was a prize for being obnoxious, all her friends would collectively win. Except her one friend Abby, who’s real nice, polite, and not annoying at all, and I’m not being sarcastic. Sounds like someone displaced from my generation, har-har.