Why I'm Being Hated On

I do believe I have found the source of being hated on. Allow me to elaborate.


All my life, I've been raised as "one of the guys", most likely because I used to stick around when my brother's friends came over and joined in on their fun. And no, at that time, I wasn't "Alex's annoying little sister", I was Erin. They didn't care that I was a girl because I added to their fun.

Elementary school was the same way. Kindergarten through fourth grade, I always had more guy friends then girl friends. We'd play sports and games at recess and I'd always doodle in the backs of my notebooks and we'd always compare drawings.

Fifth grade was a little different. That's when girls got interested in guys, and even started dating. Me, heck no. I may have switched to skinny jeans and Aeropostle, but I still played intense tag games and tried joining in the football games. This was also the year that I discovered a newfound love for the Beatles.

Now I'm in seventh grade, aka, middle school. Kids are dating already, and there's rumors galore, UGG boots, Hollister, and tackle football.

I discovered that guys are the "clowns". They make the jokes, they get in trouble, they make jokes. There are two types of guys. One is the cool guys, also known as the ones I just described. They're the ones that girls date. They're the ones that are super mean to outsiders. And then, there are the nerdy guys. They want to be like the cool guys, but it seems like they're trying too hard. They're really nice and they're funny, too

Now as for the girls, they aren't supposed to be funny. Nope. Not at all. They're supposed to be pretty and mean, perfect for the cool guys. They're supposed to be rich, with UGGs and Hollister composed closests. Usually are cheerleaders. Most of them are in choir, but if they happen to be in band, they better play flute, and normally they're either really good or they suck at it. They gossip like crazy. Normally teacher's pets, with perfect grades.

Now for the "outsider girls". They're funny. They couldn't give a shizz if they owned UGG boots. They aren't afraid to speak out for what they believe in, whether it's right or not. Teacher's hate them, because they're always talking and always have something to say about anything. The last thing on their mind is getting a boyfriend. They boo when the cheerleaders step up to the court at pep rallies and at sports events. They aren't afraid to play a "guys" instrument, like trombone, saxophone, or trumpet. Or clarinet. The only thing they want to do with a flute is bash it against the wall. Gossip is nothing compared to their hilarious inside jokes and laughter. Average grades, mostly A's, with one, maybe two, B's.

All girls classified as "tomboys" fit into the "outsider" category. They are ridiculed, excluded, and they usually have low self esteem, but they have amazing friends. Usually, beotches like the ones I've described in past blogs are in the first category.

Guess what category this hippie's in?

Would I like to be in the top category? Yes and no.

Am I going to change who I am to get into the top category?

Heck no.

~Erin~

Rant of the Day- "Santa"

WORD OF WARNING:


IF YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS, STOP READING AT ALL COSTS!

......

Okay, now that that's settled, I have another rant for y'all.

SANTA CLAUS.

I'm twelve years old. I haven't believed in Santa Claus since I was about nine. That was in fourth grade, and even then I wasn't sure if he was real or not. When I turned ten, I gave up the Santa dream, and at ages eleven and now twelve, I pretty much dropped the whole Santa dream entirely.

Well, I'm getting that feeling that my family is trying to force the Santa back into me. Do you know what I mean?

Take today for example. My grandparents came over to help bake Christmas cookies. After a while, I went to go hug my grandma, and she said to me "What if Santa doesn't bring you Gwen?"
After a quiet cringe, I said "Santa's not real."
My dad piped up from across the room. "Yes he is! Santa's the man!"
"I don't believe in Santa." I said, almost irritably.
"You don't have to believe in him, but he's real." Ma said.
"Since you don't believe in Santa, are you not going to allow your kids to get presents on Christmas and believe in Santa?" Papa asked, almost intimidating me.
I stopped there and just left, because that was just plain insulting. I know my parents and grandparents don't believe in Santa and they still let Alex and I believe in Santa, and yet they have the nerve to tell me something like that? That's just rude.

My dad has also on several occasions brough up Santa's being real-ness. And on every occasion he brings it up, he always mentions how 'if you don't believe in him, you don't get any presents'.

Okay, I don't mean to get all stereotypical-teenager on my parents, but I'm twelve freaking years old. I KNOW Santa's fake, and I KNOW that my parents are the ones who leave the presents under the tree on Christmas morning. And YES, at one point, I did believe in Santa, and YES, I did enjoy waiting up midnight to try and catch him coming down the chimney, and YES, I did leave cookies and milk on the table in the living room.

But like I said, I'm twelve years old, and those days are over. Sure, I love waking up on Christmas morning and opening the gifts and being with my family, and Santa minused out of that really doesn't change anything. I don't get mad and defy my parent's beliefs, so they have absolutely no reason to defy mine.

Now, just because I don't believe in Santa doesn't mean I'm going to go be evil and ruin other little kid's beliefs. When I see a little kid I know, I usually ask them what they asked Santa for for Christmas. I let them have their fun, just like I had mine.

Anyone who agrees?

~ERIN~

Average People Make Me Want to SCREAM.

I deserve WAY more respect than I am getting from my classmates.


Formspring.


My YouTube Formspring--blossoming! I've been getting some awesome questions! Some weren't even questions--they were so nice and they made my day! "You're so awesome!" "You are such a great writer; I love Beth's blog!" "Your writing is, like, fine art!" "You take such awesome pictures!" "Erin, you're such a talented photographer!" It makes me want to hug them.

Then I log onto my personal Formspring and my Facebook account, and it's just a bilge of disrespect. The only question I've been asked is "why i'm so in love with cal" which is the biggest sack of dog crap I've ever heard. My response was simply ">.<>

I hate people.

And the sad part about everything is, that my family is considering moving out west, and I'm ACTUALLY agreeing with them. Instead of protesting moving, because I'd miss my friends and my school, I'm actually CONVINCING them that the further we go from Ohio, the better. Further away from Cal, further away from my LIFE, further away from people who hate me, further away from sadness and mean people.

Further away from the place I hate the most.

The only things I would miss are Jacie, Natalie, and Emily; aka my best friends.

To be honest, I don't fully understand why they hate me so freaking much. I act like the bitches who rule the seventh grade, and I dress like them, and I do everything they do except cheerlead and sports. And I still get disrespected like you wouldn't BELIEVE.

We got new seats in World History on Monday, and now I'm seated next to a teacher's pet of a popular chick. I smiled at her. She looked at me, surveyed my outfit, gave a look that reminded me of a grimace, then looked away. I wanted to knock her into the ground, because that pissed me off so badly. She didn't even SAY anything to me. Which, proves my point, that the only thing that matters to be popular is appearances.

There's this girl named Aly. Mean as heck. Talks to me like I'm a fourth grader. Looks at me like I'm a retard. And yet, she still gets asked out and treated like she's the Queen of England.

Jeez I hate them >.<


~Erin~

It Doesn't Get Any Worse Then This...

"YES!" Me and my best friend, Emily, cheered once we found out that we were to sit next to each other in the new class, Content Area Reading, aka, the most boring class on the face of the Earth.

The teacher, Mrs. K, had posted a seating chart at the front of the classroom for us to go off of. We directed ourselves to our new seats and sat down, eager to begin the new note-passing trimester.

As soon as we sat down and began talking, that horrible, tall, spikey haired figure sat down in the seat next to me.

"Why did I KNOW that would happen?!" I asked Emily, hatefully.

Cal had been assigned the fourth desk in our cluster, and a friendly guy named Ruchin was assigned the other.

For those of you that do not know, Cal is my male archenemy. I have many female archenemies, but Cal is my only male enemy. He is the most annoying kid whoever walked these hallways. He's popular, tall, all the girls want him, and he's the most disrespectful guy I know. He always bothers me, and the only time he speaks to me is to tell me to shut up, and he rarely says anything else. We hate each other like Sue Sylvester and Will Schuester hate each other. Me being Sue, because I always make snarky comments about his hair, which is obvious to see that he spends more time on it in the morning then I do.

He puts his feet under my desk. I kick his legs. He moves his feet for a matter of twenty seconds, then moves them back under my desk.

"Dude, I swear to God, if you don't move your legs out from under my freaking desk," I hissed. "I will break your legs off and beat you with them."

He just grinned that charismatic grin and flipped his hair the other direction. I scowled. He had won, despite my mean and horribly hilarious comment.

And in Math today, him and I were having a conversation from our seats, which happen to be 3 rows apart from each other. I was talking to someone across the room, since we had the coolest substitute teacher E.V.E.R.

"OH MY GOD, Erin, SHUT UP." Cal said to me.
"You shut up, Cal." I snapped back.

"No one cares!" Cal snapped back, when I wasn't even talking to him.
"Yeah, well you never shut up, and no one cares what YOU have to say." I sneered.

The kids roared with laughter. I. Had. Won.

The thing about Cal is, you never know when you win, because for an outsider like myself, no matter how hard I push and no matter how snarky and clever my comebacks are, I always lose to Cal. Why? Because he's popular. THAT's why. You know you win when you get a satisfying roar of laughter from the surrounding children. I never get those, because I am an outcast. Cal gets them because he's a player and a loser. He's nothing more then gum on the sidewalk of my life. I'll be laughing the day that all his past girlfriends gang up on him and throw cupcakes at his face because of how jerkish he was to them.

And do you know WHY I'll be laughing?

Because. I. Was. Right.

This next part needs a bit of explaining. Allow me.

In Health, a few weeks ago, I was listening to Cal's conversations with his tablemate, because unfortunately, he chose the table beside mine, because we were allowed to pick our seats. I was sitting next to my friend Sarah.


To his tablemate, he was complaining about how he was single.

"Well," I added. "You don't ALWAYS need a girlfriend."
"Shut up, Erin." Cal said, in way like he was almost superior over me. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Well, I'm just saying." I said, under my breath.


And I will be RIGHT if his many past girlfriends bombard him with cupcakes. Wait, he doesn't even deserve cupcakes. Snails? Naww. Rocks? No. His girlfriends are all so skinny and limp that they probably couldn't even LIFT the rocks. Blowfish? Nope. Spikey earrings? Too easy.

I GOT IT :D

UGG BOOTS.

They all wear UGG boots every day, even when the Sun is so hot it could burn them right off their feet. All UGG brand, never off brand. I was getting so annoyed with these ridiculous boots that I even started a "Hugs Not UGGs" campaign.

ANYWAY, the day that they all bombard Cal with their precious Eskimo boots is the day that I throw back my head, laugh as hard as I can until I piss my pants, step on Cal's face with my sneakers, and watch him suffer like he watched ME suffer when I was all alone. And the day that he comes to school, crying, because he hasn't any friends, because he was a big jerk to every last one of them, is the day that he gets beat up by a tough-as-nails, hardcore, Glee-obsessed, hippie. Named Erin. And when he begs for mercy at my feet, I'll kick him over and say to the jerk. "Why not stuff it up your @%^ and get a clue." Then untie his shoelaces and walk away.

Jerk.

~Erin~

Living Room Concert

Is it illegal to hate parents? Because, I kind of do right now.

It's Thanksgiving. Happy Turkey Day, everyone! :) All my *close* relatives are over, and I was having a great time, until my mom announced that I would be doing my Living Room Concert tonight.

Living Room Concerts are assigned in band class, usually over breaks, where kids have to play for their families and the families get to leave comments and signatures to prove that parents and relatives heard that they played. And I absolutely HATE doing them. I mean, it's not that I hate playing clarinet, no, I absolutely love playing. It's just playing in front of my family that bothers me. I don't know why, but there are times when I want all the attention on me [which usually occurs when the attention isn't supposed to be on me] and there are other times when I'd rather not have the attention on me [which usually happens when it's supposed to be on me, like when playing clarinet or at birthday parties] but unfortunately, that's one of those times.

And it doesn't help at all that my step-grandma [who I call Nana] has never heard me play, and she'd really like to.

But of course, I have very legitimate reasons for not wanting to play.

~Most of the pieces the band director has given out are winter-themed, and I want to save them for the [stupid] Holiday Concert, mostly because it's not Christmas season-y yet.

~The pieces that I like that AREN'T holiday themed, yeah, I DON'T HAVE THE MELODY. I'll play some, and rest for seven measures, and then the audience will totally have missed the important part, because I don't play it. Blame the freaking trumpets for getting all the glory.

And the by far most important reason:

~I. Just. Don't. Want. To.

Although, my mom protests "Who said you get to make all the descisions in what you do?!" She says.

Me. That's who, mother.

I'm gonna sound all hippie here, and all, but aren't I my own person? I mean, sure, I'm a twelve year old girl living under the rule of her parents, but I live in the United States of America, and our Constitution allows Freedom of Speech, thank you very much. I think I'm old enough to decide for myself when I do my homework.

And of course, my brother, shy old Alex, has no problem fiddling away on his violin. My family could sit and watch him for hours, playing pieces I've never heard of that he claims are famous. They haven't cared to listen to ME play my glorious woodwind until now, of course, exactly when I don't want to. I'd play for my grandpa, Pa, when he came to visit with donuts on the weekends, but he never bothers to ask because he doesn't seem to care.

Blegch.


~Er•n~

Changes Suck. Bad.

I am really, really disappointed with myself now. I have become the exact thing that I do not want to. One of those icky wannabe populars. I find myself looking in the full length mirror in my bedroom and thinking "Would Aly wear this?" or "Would Michelle wear this?" since Michelle and Aly are the few 'popular' girls I know who are actually kind and friendly [More Michelle then Aly.]

And another thing, I started

Wearing.

Makeup.

EGAD. I know. Not everyday. But when I do, it's usually lip gloss [which is always washed away by second period, since I have band class first period. Clarinet reeds wipe the gloss right off my lips.], mascara, and eye shadow.

I also started straightening my hair. I only burned my thumb once, but I never seem to be able to get it straight the way I want it. Maybe I need a better straightener?

And the thing I'm most ashamed of.....

I've started lying to people.

Okay, that may be stretching the truth a little there, but whenever questioned about my Beatles loving personality, do you want to know my response?

"Ew, no. The Beatles suck. I hate them."

I almost always go to the bathroom after that and wash my mouth out with soap and bang my head against the door. Not kidding.

But in a few ways, I haven't changed at a bit. I still listen to Ke$ha and Lady Gaga religiously, and I watch Glee like toddlers watch Dora the Explora, I'm still terrified to touch a curling iron, and I still worship John Lennon. Keeping up with the Kardashians, Estate of Panic, and The Biggest Loser are still my favourite reality shows, and I still write my words with the English/European format, despite how many points my English teacher takes off my essays. I still hate my gifted teacher with a passion [Yes, I am a gifted child. Got a problem? Suck it.] because she calls me by my first & last name and tells me she reminds her of her when I was her age, and my relationship status on Facebook is "divorced" even though I've never been in a relationship, and my favorite food is still pretzel chicken.


Don't worry guys, it's still me, you're average everyday Erin ;)



Puh-shaw.


~ERON~

Rant of the Day- Popularity

WHAT THE HECK.
What. The. Heck.

I just got scolded on Facebook by a popular girl named Shelby, due to the fact that I answered a question on that game that you answer yes or no questions about people and they can automaticaly see the answer. On October 2nd, I was asked "Is Shelby [last name] a good athlete?" and I answered no, because all she does is cheerleading [naturally]. I checked today and she left me this comment on that post:

that really mean! Why are you being a bully!

I have several comments on that post.

Number one, when ending a sentence that asks a question, you would end with a question mark. The correct grammar would be "Why are you being a bully?!", and saying "that really mean" does not make sense. the correct format would be "That was really mean!" or "That is really mean!".

Secondly, in our school, we have been taught that the definition of a "bully" is a person who does actions to intentionally hurt someone repeatedly. I have never spoken to Shelby once in my middle school career. I know her from school, but since I have never spoken to her, I cannot be a bully to her. I don't talk to popular girls because I believe that I am better then to sink to their level of ignorance and because I haven't the faintest idea what I could say to someone popular that wouldn't result in them saying "SHUT UP, ERIN!"

Thirdly, another reason I chose that answer was because back in July, she answered a question on the game "21 Questions" and said yes to the question "Does Erin [last name] 'recycle' dirty underwear?" I am a firm believer in karma, so I felt that she needed that to come back to her. She's a real snot to EVERYONE, and I felt that this was my once chance to get back at her without commiting social suicide. So my response?

i was joking around ^_^ and i haven't done it more then once.

Her reply?

what ever!

MY reply?

-.-


Popular people are just....ugh to me. The ones at my school make me want to throw up on their Hollister flip-flops. They think they're all that and that they rule the un-cool kids. They've driven me to the point where I'm willing to smack any one of them that gets in my way >:(

For one, they make all the "un-cool" kids feel bad about themselves. I'll admit it, I have low self esteem, thanks to the popular kids. Not just the girls, but the guys, too. They can be more rude then the girls, at times. Whenever I attempt a conversation with a popular person, they usually give me a look that says "Kay. You're uncool, so don't talk to me, kay kay!" or say "OH MY GOD, Erin SHUT UP." There have been countless times that I've been laughed at and made fun of because of who I am. I was invited to one of the friendly popular people's birthday party last year, and hardly anyone talked to me except my friend Josh and a few other people. One thing I did notice was that none of the girls even looked my way. They all huddled in a group near the MP3 player that was playing our music. I was also busy beasting up the party center's Beatles Rock Band game.

And another thing, they hide all their cruel jokes with "Just kiddings" or "I was playing around." or something along those lines. If any of you read my doll, Bethie's, blog, you would know that Bethie is/was tormented at school by popular people. Guess what? Those stories are based off of REAL experiences of mine. The jerk, Sal, who steals away Bethie's heart, but tears it into tiny pieces on countless occasions? Real person, except without the part about Sal loving Bethie, because unfortunately that doesn't happen in Erin's life. The mean girls from Brick Stone Junior High School, Miranda, Kimmy, and Shelby? Real people who made my 6th grade year a living heck, except the name Shelby was changed because the name of the girl who really tormented me is the name of a close friend of mine on YouTube. I bet you can determine where the name-change came from. Bethie's former friend, Veronica? Real person, except I never lost her like Bethie did. Most of her experiences are based off of mine, except with fictional twists to make the story more interesting.

Back to the topic. On Facebook [why do these things always happen THERE?], there is this "rating game". I was rated by a person [popular, thankyouverymuch] a THREE. And when I commented "you would say that." He commented back "jk jk jk" and I said "suuuure" because I knew he wasn't "just kidding" with me. The way he treats me, a three is actually a good number. I'm sure three was the best he could come up with that wouldn't hurt my feelings, because the scale of one to five is not small enough for me.

Another ranting topic--looks. The populars are shallow as KIDDIE POOLS. If you don't straighten your hair every day, wear makeup that makes you look like a raccoon, or if half your closet isn't composed of Hollister, Abercrombie, or Aeropostale, congratulations, you're officially an outsider! And it's even worse for the guys. The girls do all the crazy shenanigans listed above, and the guys are attracted to THEM ONLY. The pretty girls with no personality. And of course, there are plenty of girls who's looks aren't bad on the outside, but they are amazingly funny and talented on the inside, but since everyone only sees the outside, they are casted adrift in the cold, dark sea that is the group of outsiders.

I'm never going to get asked out by anyone throughout my high school years, which is perfectly fine with me. I'd rather focus on studies and friends to get me into college, and I'll be a thriving photographer in New York City and they'll be selling milk to old ladies in a convenient store. And I'd love to see the day when someone I knew from my middle school years approaches me while I'm on duty. This is the conversation I'm dying to hear:

"Ummm....excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?" The person would say. "You look strangely familiar."
"Oh, hello. I'm Erin [last name]. Professional photographer." Then I'd hand them one of my buisness cards, and sweep a piece of my long blonde hair off my face.
"Oh my gosh! I knew an Erin [last name] in middle school! It's so nice to see you again!" Then they'd embrace me for a hug.
"Um, who are you?"
"Don'tcha remember? It's me, [insert name of ignorant popular person here]!"
"I thought I was 'the weird girl', you even called me that. Anyway, I have work to do, good-bye." Then I'd walk away, leaving them in a state of pure awe.

I would KILL to see the day that happens.

There are too many things to rant about popular people on, so I'm just gonna stop here.

Laterz.

~Erin~

That Sinking Feeling

My knees where shaking. My heart was pounding. I was thrilled, and terrified at the same time. I was terrilled.

I walked into the band room, clarinet in one arm, music folder in the other. I took my seat at the back row where I had been assigned and unfolded my name tag and popped it on the back of my stand.

The band director was assigning chairs today.

Oh, anybody who knows me knows I have a secret passion of becoming first chair clarinet in my school's band. I want to be the best, because that's the sort of messed-up person that I am.

"Alright everyone!" The director called when the bell rang. It was first period, and all the other sections were silent. "Let's get started on Windsor Overture."

I couldn't have been more let down. I wanted to know, and I wanted to know NOW.

After we rehearsed our songs, the band director brought everyone to a silence.

"Okay, everybody." He said. "Right now, we're going to change seats."

I shook with excitement. I gathered up my things and waited for him to announce the clarinets.

He called all of us clarinets down to the front of the classroom. I took a deep breath and walked down to the front.

He called in order of chairs.

"Hannah, Natalie, Aysha, Erin." He pointed to the four seats in the front row.

My heart sank to the bottom of my chest. FOURTH chair?!? This was a total rip-off! I did SO much better then Hannah did! But there was nothing I could do about it.

The other seat assignments were a blur to me. The tears brimmed in my eyes as I unloaded my folder and put my name tag on our new stand.

My heart was heavy as a rock as I played our songs. I slumped to my locker and I tried to avoid all eye-contact with my best friend, Gillian, who had earned the title of second chair flute, thank you very much.

"Erin, what's wrong?" Gillian asked me.
"Nothing, just leave me alone." I mumbled, and I headed to my locker as quick as my lead-like feet could carry me.

Sam and Jenna, who's lockers were right near mine, questioned my strange behavior, and so did my other friend, Jacie. Sam had chosen fine art over band, and she always wanted to know what was going on in band. I felt like she had disgraced me for her false-love of the clarinet, and so I hardly ever gave her a thorough description of what had happened. Somedays I had half a mind to say "You chose art over band, so why do you care?"

I walked home from the bus stop that day, and folded my hands and put my face in my palms. I wasn't in the mood to do my math homework.

That night, I told my mom about my band woes.

"Fourth chair? Out of how many clarinets?" She had asked me.
"Twelve." I responded.
"Erin, that's fabulous!" She said, overjoyed.
"No it's not!'' I replied, angrily. "It sucks! I wanted to be first and I got fourth! I HATE my position!" I wailed.
"If you want to be better, then you have to practice! You have to GET better!"

She told my dad later that night, and he said the same thing.

I wanted to be first. I want to be the BEST.

I can't help but envy that Hannah chick with all my heart. I loathe her like Galinda loathes Elphaba, like Harry loathes Draco, like Nathan Detroit loathes Big Jule. She's the teacher's pet in EVERY class. I hate her and I just want to stuff my fist up her nose. First chair Hannah my foot.

Hate, hate, HATE

~Erin~

Upside-Down-ed-Ness

Everything is.......changing.

And it's kind of...weird.

This weekend I went to visit my friend in New York state. I remember the last time I saw her. She was always hungry. She loved meat and she was silly about....everything.

And now she's vegan.
And now she's more serious.
And it SUCKS.

And another one of her friends came with us. I remember her being just like my New York friend.

And she's on a diet. A special one. [Not anything like Jenny Craig. I can't say what it is]

I feel like I was the left out one. They both go to rich kid schools and I go to some public school.. and they're both on diets and I really don't give a crap about what I eat as long as it tastes good.

And they're both older then me. The NY friend turned thirteen today and the other one turns 13 in February....and I'm barely 12. I feel so....small and insignificant and worthless when I'm around them.

And they're listening to rap sh*t and modern music and I'm listening to.........The Beatles.

And it's embarassing.

My best friend in the whole widestest world got her texting cut off and I haven't figured out why yet.
My 2 other friends are in volleyball. [and that's all they ever talk about]
The school jerk is being kinder to me.
I've got almost no classes with Josh.
My dolls have been in the same outfits since out L'Atelier de Sitara clothes arrived.


Gaahhhhh.


Screw change.

Rant of the Day: "Alex's Little Sister"

All my life, all my 12 years, I've been known as "Alex's little sister." And it sucks.

My parents, my teachers, my brother's fellow 9th grade students, all know me, no, not as Erin, they know me as "Alex's little sister."

Too many times I've gone into classrooms that my brother once learned in, hoping that I can make a person out of my own, and I get asked. "Oh, so you're Alex's little sister?"

And too many times, I've had to answer, "yes."

And TOO MANY TIMES at parent-teacher conferences, I've had my parents been told

"Gosh, your kids are as different as night and day!"

And TOO MANY TIMES, my parents have had to reply "Yes, they are."

That's probably what I hate most. People always compare me to Alex, but we're nothing alike. He's shy, cocky, overconfident, has good eyesight, has blue eyes, never speaks to anyone he doesn't know, does what he's told, he's a hippie hater, and is a violinist.

I'm outgoing, have low-self esteem, I have the eyesight of a bat, I have been told [TOO MANY TIMES] that I have the eyes of a dark chocolate candy bar, I always talk to random people I see, and I always rebel and don't listen, I am a pureblood HIPPIE [without the whole "doing drugs" part] and I play the clarinet.

Do you see ANY resemblance? ANY AT ALL?

Well, there are maybe a few things that are alike about the 2 of us.

For one, we can both sware like sailors at times. And we're both conservative in political views, and we both agree that global warming is a plot for financial gain [which it is]. We both eat like pigs and we both stole my mom's blonde hair while we were little kids. And we both agree that our parents can make no sense at times.

Most of the time, I feel like I'm living in Alex's shadow. I'm expected to get perfect grades and be first chair in band class. And it hurts. One day, I'm almost positive I'm going to hear "Why can't you be more like Alex!?" And from my one set of grandparents, I already have.

I feel it's a good thing that I'm taking a totally different pattern of life then he is. I'm joining drama club and doing photography, while he's listening to political radio shoes and playing computer games. My accomplishments have shown a huge difference. My grandpa cried when my mom showed him my 2nd AGMA Assignment, and my mom cried when I showed her my first stopmotion, Here Comes the Sun [even though it sucked butt]. But still, I feel like its nothing compared to my brother's accomplishments, and that mine are shabby and pathetic compared to his.

He got into an advanced orchestra group for school that you have to be asked to join. I got into a modeling academy on YouTube for dolls that you have to audition and be accepted into.

He got 1st chair violin [and kept it through the whole year, no one dared challenge him] and I got an A on my 1st band quiz.

Do you see the difference?

I do.

~Erin~

Saturday Means School on Monday

NOOOOOOO!

I hate school. I always have, and I always will. On my first day of kindergarten, the happy-smiley little Erin skipped to school in a plaid dress and ridiculous pigtails that her mom forced her to wear. SHE was excited to go to school.

Yeah, well she's gone.

Maybe I hate school because of all the judging going on there. Especially since I'm in middle school, the judging goes on faster then a cheesecake served at a birthday party.

People look at me and they see:

Tall girl. Shoulder length-reddish blonde hair. Beatles tee-shirt. Brightly colored skinny jeans and a pair of converse.

DING DING DING DING DING.

Beatles tee shirt. That is the ONE THING that marks me as hippie. I like the Beatles, I wear peace signs, and I want world peace. Got a problem with that?

People listen to me and they hear:

Loud girl. Never shuts up. Isn't afraid to stand up to teachers and other adults about what she feels. Often in trouble for talking to other students.

They think: Independent. Has her own mind.

Well, that's good. But since people have the wrong idea about hippies, they just add it to the hippie assumption.


My mother wants me to change. She wants me to be more liked in school and not be a hippie.

The thing is, I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE.

I like being a hippie. I like being assumed that I belong in the 1960s, because I do.

And. I. Don't. Give. A. Crap. If. I'm. Popular.


Sure, it bugs me that people judge me and hate on me because of my hippie-ness. But I like what I do. I don't mind walking down the hallways singing Yellow Submarine with my best friend and getting all these strange looks. We're having fun, and if the people of this society can't understand that fun isn't always going on a date or texting your "bestie", then they can all rot and burn at the curb for all I care.


Jenna and I love being judged as "the weird girls". Earlier this week, I got tagged on one of those Animated Facebook pictures as "the one that's up to know good." And when I asked why, I got the answer:

"Erin, think. When are you ever up to something good?"

And instead of protesting, I said "good point." Because that's the truth.


I still hate school. But I'm looking forward to content-area reading. My brother had to take that class and the teacher was one of the biggest liberals in the school. She believed in global warming and all that crap, and my brother didn't be a stranger and he protested against it, and usually proved her wrong. I'll bet the teacher will recognize the last name and remember me. I can't wait to prove the teacher wrong. HAHAHAHAH.

It was actually pretty funny. At the beginning of the summer, my brother went to this orchestra camp that his school offered for advanced orchestra kids. His orchestra teacher does NOT like him, because he's a boy and he's a good violinist. She's sexist against boys is what I'm saying. So she hates him. When we went to go to the concert at the end of camp, my parents started talking to the teacher and she kept giving me looks like "There's TWO of them?!?" And I had to laugh.

What will my reputation hold this year? Monday, August 30th will unveil the answer.

~Erin~

Storage and Sanity

I am torn....
TORN, I TELL YOU.

Since I want to have new friends over in my room, I want to reduce my doll room to...well, almost nothing. Just a few beds and beddings.

Well, that is not possible. Why, might you ask? My doll room is a HUGE, and I mean HUGE cupboard. It's taller then I am and there are NO doors on it. So I can't even shut the doors to hide it.

Besides, even if I put the doors back on it, I still have the horse stable, the dressing room I put together, and the closet, which is a rack completely filled with doll clothing.

I feel ashamed of myself because I've let my doll loving side take over my entire life. I don't want to be all dolls, which is what I am. I feel bad because I now have THIRTEEN dolls, when I don't even want that much, but my mom won't let me sell any.

I don't want a giant doll room! I want a small one, an easy one to put away when I don't want anyone to see it, not a giant closet that's impossible to miss! But I can't bear to tell my mom about how I feel, because she'll go all *dramatic* on me because we've spent SO much money on it. My dad said it's so heavy and big, we can't even move it to a different spot.

I have a few beds in my closet that I could use, but they would take a long time to build and put together.

Bed 1- A loft bed. It has a bed on top, and below it is a small space that is hard to see and get into. That space would be were I put my doll beds/room.
Bed 2- The other half of my bunk bed. I have the bottom part of a bunk bed, and the top part was taken apart. We would put the bunk back on top and put the doll room on top.

I have a good plan for my bedroom, but zero idea for my doll room.

Gahhh.

~Erin~

Haaaaapiest Birthday to Me

Sunday was my birthday. And I have good news. And lots of it.

Good News:

-My cousin did NOT show up! :D
-I'm getting Ruthie when I go to American Girl Place New York this Friday from my grandparents!
-I had so much fun!
-My brother gave me a $25 AG gift card!

I'm crazy busy. Packing my doll's clothes, cleaning my room, doing some stray chores, preparing my dolls for Ruthie's arrival. I will not be able to gurantee blogs from August 20th through August 25th. I will be in New York City during those days and I will have a horrible, horrible laptop with me. I MIGHT be able to, but I can't guarantee anything. All I can promise is a slide show of my pictures on my YouTube account, plus POSSIBLY a vLog.

So far, my list for NYC is:
-Elizabeth's Tea Lesson Gown
-Kit's School Skirt Set
-Julie's Calico Dress
-Lanie's Garden Outfit
-Lanie's Butterfly Outfit
-Pet Show Dress
-Safari Sundress
-Pretty and Plaid Dress
-Souvenier Clothes

If there aren't any cute souvenier clothes, I'm going to just get a shirt that says "American Girl Place New York" so that they have an NYC shirt.

Kay. Baiiii.

~Erin~

Rant of the Day: "Friends"

You know what bothers me? And by bothers me, I mean, DRIVES ME COMPLETELY INSANE?

How my online friends, who I've never ever met in my entire life, are kinder to me then my so-called real live friends.

For example, my birthday is coming up in about 2 days, and I've gotten more early-birthday comments on my YouTube channel then I have on my Facebook.

Let's see.....hmmmm....I've gotten about......I want to say....17 early birthday wishes on my Youtube channel?

And guess how many I've gotten on Facebook.

Z-E-R-O.

And there's no doubt in my mind that that number is going to stay the same on my actual birthday.

That just goes to show you how much my "friends" love me.

It's not just now. As I explained in my first blog post, sixth grade SUCKED @$$ for me. And it's all because of the stupid kids. I got decent grades, but I was pushed away and hated on and excluded because I was just being myself.

And those stupid psychologist people said that being yourself would make all the more better.

LIARS.

Picture this:

"Oh, and you can use partners on this assignment. Get started!" The teacher said.
Before you have time to look around the room to decide who you will partner with, everyone has already decided. Nobody even looks at you or considers you, and you are stuck working alone. Again.

Now imagine that happening to you every freakin' time you got to work in partners in class.

That is my school life.

Because nobody had the nerve to even talk to the edgy, weird hippie girl. The only words they spoke of me were hurtful, and usually behind my back. There wasn't a kid in my grade who didn't know my name, and most of them just knew me for being "that weird hippie girl."

Do you know how many times I wanted to completely destroy the popular girls who made fun of me?

Many times. And I knew I could. I could knock their Hollister-spoiled butts right on the floor with one hand tied behind my back.

I always try to update my statuses on Facebook. Day after day, no comments, no likes, and no posts written on my Wall. Yet, the girls and guys who hate me send me the friend invites, since I never send out my own invites.

Truthfully, I cannot WAIT to go back to school. I want to prove to all the hippie-hating losers out there that a five-foot tall "Alex's Little Sister" can be normal, because she can.

If I had it my way, I'd stay my hippie-ish self. I'd go back, decked in my hippie wear, as my normal Beatley self. My mom wants me to change since she claimed I would "be happier."

No. Just no.

Whoop, now it's 1 day to my birthday. Sorry, I'm a night owl xDDDD

And still no Facebook messages.

Gaaah. I hate my "friends".

Do any of you have trouble with people who are mean to you, yet they claim you to be your friend?

~Erin~

Discrimination

"Move over, sweetie."

"Can you move to the side a little? We're trying to take a picture."

"Excuse me, dear. We need this picture."

Those were some of the hurtful terms I heard at my cousins wedding. In fact, it wasn't as bad as I interpreted. The food was AMAZING. I can add pretzel chicken to my list of my favorite food.

The scenery was gorgeous.

Picture this:

They held the wedding in a building in front of this scenic area. Isn't it gorgeous? There was a whole field of peach trees and fields of fruit plants beyond those beautiful hills, plus a pond I dreamed of photographing at.

When we were taking bridal pictures afterward, I can't even recite how many times I, the official wedding photographer, was asked to move out of the way of somebody else's picture, or the amount of times when Jenny had to say to the people "Erin has first dibs, she's the OFFICIAL photographer." I almost wanted to hug her at that point.

It's just not fair. People are so absorbed in their adult careers that they just CAN'T picture an eleven year old with a semi-pro camera taking picture's for her older cousin's wedding. God only knows how many time people called poor Jenny "cheap" behind her back because she didn't want to pay for a professional photographer and settled for me. I had fun taking her pictures. I got to follow her down the aisle and take pictures of her as she walked. Her dress was beautiful.

I think she did a nice job planning the wedding. It was a beautiful building in front of a very pretty area. And when she through the bouquet, guess who caught it?

Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together, blogging to you live from Ohio,

ERIN!

Yup! I caught it! It was nice bouquet of white lillies. My grandma grinned furiously when I caught it.

Oh, and we couldn't leave her Samantha doll out of the celebration!

Yup. My grandma made her that dress. It was supposed to be a surprise, but her little stepsister spilled it before she was supposed to know. I felt like slapping her.

Overall, I liked being the photographer, but I hated being discriminated for being an eleven year old photographer. I felt like the people there didn't trust that I would do well with the pictures. Its not their wedding. Let Jenny do what she wants.

GOSH.

AAAAH!

~Erin~

The Wedding

Accckkkk.

The wedding is today. I'm not excited. I'll try to post a picture of me in my dress in a later post. It's 8 AM and I'm tired, sticky, hot, and my hair is in my waaay :(

I hate this.

~Erin~

August 7th- Worst/Best Day Ever

As of right now, I have..... *drum roll* eleven followers! HUZZAH!

The days are ticking faster towards my birthday.. and I'm excited!

First off, I have a feeling I'm NOT getting Ruthie! I think I'm getting Gwen Thompson, Girl of the Year Best Friend of 2009, off of eBay from my grandparents. For my birthday dinner, we are having smashed chicken [Or as I like to call it, shmashed chicken], scalloped potatoes, and green bean bundles. If you have any idea what any of those three things are, I APPLAUD YOU! If not, go look them up on Google or Bing or, whatever search engine you use. The green bean bundles especially are worth making.

And of course, the days are also ticking faster towards my evil cousins wedding. *sigh*

It's this Saturday, August 7th. She hired me to be the photographer, and I'm NOT looking forward to it. I'm only excited because [for once] she's actually paying me! I have to wear a dress. But I get to step in the middle of the aisle when she's walking down to take a picture. And nobody else is allowed! This is one of those times where I'm allowed to break the rules and nobody else is. HOORAY REBELLION!

As for my dress.....it's okay, I guess. It's black and white and it's a sundress. I match the wedding color scheme, which is white, black, and shocking pink. I'm not looking forward to it. I actually wanted to rebel, as usual, and wear blue to go totally against the color scheme, but that is obviously NOT happening.

At first, I was excited for the wedding. I've never had a real paying job before. Unless you count chores, which I don't. And I've never EARNED fifty dollars all at one time by myself. I've been given it from my grandfather, every birthday and Christmas I get a 50 dollar bill, but I've never earned all 50 of it at one time.

Then I learned that I had to wear a dress, and taking pictures meant missing out on my "wedding fun" as my mom calls it [HA!]. I wonder what the frick we're eating for supper that day. Because whatever it is, I'd rather eat a huge breakfast before and skip out on dinner. I don't give a crap if it's my grandma's spaghetti, which is to die for. My cousin's probably touched it and mixed some of her poison-y evil into it.

I'm only excited for August 7th because my friend's birthday party is later in the day after the wedding.

Well, there are some advantages to having my cousin's wedding.

1) She'll have a family to take care of. Her husband, and her baby animal thing. Then she'll stop visiting and start doing stuff with her own family instead of with ours.
2) She will have an excuse to go back to her home in New York and never come back.


Okay, so maybe there's more downsides then good things, but at least there's good things in the first place. It's not like she's getting married and moving in with us, which would be one of my worst nightmares.


~Erin~

Rant of the Day: Little Kids

Hey guys, Erin again. And I'm gonna start a new thing here, called the Rant of the Day. See, everytime I see or hear something that makes me mad, and I need to rant about it, I will post a blog about it, so you can read about my misadventures with the stuff I'm ranting about. This will always be labeled in the title as "Rant of the Day".

Today's rant-- Little kids. One of my least favorite things.

I hate how they're always getting special treatment just 'cause they're young. Yesterday I was at the grocery store with my mother and we were picking out meat in the deli and we saw a little girl in a cart who got a cookie from one of the ladies behind the counter--FOR FREE! And I'm sure it was just because she was little. And here I am, almost 12 years old, standing right next to her cart, cookie-less. Just cause I'm older.

You see, little kids are just people, only smaller and stupider. I bet that little girl wouldn't have stood out if she was 11 years old, just like me. And she probably wouldn't have gotten a cookie, either. And it's not like old people and adults are any better. They endorse the treatment, by giving them free toys and special treats like cookies and candy. And it seems like the only people who understand my problem are kids ages 7 to 14. Because teens babysit little kids. And love them.

What's so special about little kids, anyway? They don't DO anything! They just sit around, play with their toys and get free cookies. They can't run races, write blogs, take pictures, operate a computer, play clarinet, text their friends, play with pets, or eat with utensils--all the things I CAN do, and I can do most of those things pretty well. Whereas they wouldn't even know where to begin when trying to play the clarinet or take pictures.

Plus, they don't even listen to you half the time. Like, if you tell them to stop throwing their stuffed animals, they throw them anyway just to get you peed off. Or if you tell them that it's time to take a nap, they'll make a great big noisy fuss because they don't want to. The only words they seem to comprehend and follow through with are "Snack time!"

And another thing. I don't actually have this problem, but I have friends who do, and they're getting sick of it too. Like, if you have a younger sibling and your parents blame you for stuff they did. Lets I had a 3 year old little sister and she accidentally knocked over the lamp in my living room and broke it because she was tossing her stuffed animals around and one of them accidentally hit the lamp. The parent would blame me for it and I would get in trouble because "I could have stopped her" and "she doesn't understand because she's little." Then the kid starts crying, and my mom gives her juice and cookies to calm her down. AGAIN WITH THE FREE COOKIES! And I'm grounded for a week because of her.

Does anybody have this problem? Are you sick of little kids and their special treatment? Because I know I am.


~Erin~

Unhappy Feelings

Am I allowed to be ticked off?
Upset?
Under appreciated?
Sad?
Angry?

Good. Because I'm feeling all of that right now. BLAH.

My birthday is in....*counts on fingers* sixteen days. We're having a celebration on my actual birthday since it's on a Sunday, and I have to admit I'm pretty excited. Mostly because I'm asking for a new doll from my grandparents.

But....I have a problem.

I have a cousin, she's 21 with a baby son and a fiancée who she will be married to on August 7th. I. Hate. Her.

First off, she treats me like I'm some little kid. Personally, I think it's because of my love of dolls and photographing them. HELLO? I'm 11 years, going on 12, old! I'm old enough to ride the big rides at theme parks [if I wasn't deathly afraid of heights, which I am] and I'm almost enough enough to see PG-13 movies on my own. Same to my older brother, Alex. DUDE. That kid is taller then SHE IS. Next April he can get his temporary license, but he isn't officially 16 until October of 2011. She scolds Alex like she's his mother for being his usual quiet and shy self and not talking to her. Personally, I can't blame him! If I was allowed, I'd never speak to her for the rest of my life. But I'm not. So I'm forced to.

ANYWAY, my mom invited her to my family birthday party, and as you can probably tell by my description above that I obviously don't want her at my party. Why, you may ask? Well, there are several explanations for that.

1) Since I want to celebrate my birthday with my dolls, I like to leave them out atop the fireplace hearth to be apart of the party. Anytime my cousin's son sees them, he grabs a hold of them and mangles their hair and messes them up. That kid obviously does NOT know how hard it is for me to get 12 dolls hair done in less then an hour.
2) I HATE the way she treats me. See Paragraph 6.
3) I get this guilty feeling in my chest when I get something like presents and someone else doesn't. I don't know why, but ever since I was small I always hated to get gifts and have someone else not. I guess it just adds to the fun of recieving.
4) I, obviously, won't be the youngest at the party, and my chest bubbles filled with envy when my grandparents are cooing and cuddling her little son and when my mom talks to him in that baby-ish tone of voice, and once again, ever since I was young I've always liked to be the center of attention, especially at my own parties [Isn't that the point of them!?]. Him and his stupid screams and his 'adorable' baby words will be too much for my own good. They'll have to wipe me off the walls after the big explosion.
5) I've always liked my family celebrations small. Just my family of four, and my 2 sets of grandparents and my brother's godfather. And that's it. Adding 2 more humans and a small person will make the table too crowded, and a crowded table equals unhappy Erin. A crowded table equals less cake for leftovers the next day, since they'll be feeding the little animal in the high chair every last bit.

As you can see, I have had a lot of anger and hatred towards my cousin and her family. Blogging about this makes meh feel better about myself.

~Eriiiiiiiiin~

Welcome to Meh Blog

Hi. I'm Erin. This is my very first personal blog, and I'm kind of new to writing a blog for myself. Let's try and see what happens.

Well, first off, I'm a hippie. Yes, h-i-p-p-i-e. I love old music, wearing hippie-ish clothing, and I believe that everyone should just love each other and there should be no fighting or wars. Which is where my problem comes in.

I consider myself the most hated girl in the 7th grade. I, myself, do not know why.

Was it my appearance?

I don't really take care of myself like the girls in my school do. I mean, sure I shower and wash my hair and do all the necessary stuff, but I don't really wear makeup or style my hair often. Normally, I just brush it and go. Since the kids in my school are as shallow as kiddie pools, they all ignored me and hated on me. The only people who truly understood my point of view were my best friends, Jenna and Gillian. They're the best in the world, I don't know what I'd do without them. Actually, without them I'd be some depressed hippie without a meaning in life. Which brings me to my next point.

Was it my personality?

I'm different. I'm not afraid to admit it. I wear different clothes, like Beatles tees and tye dye. I wear headbands across my forehead, giant peace medallions and wood beads. They all hated on me for being different. They just couldn't accept the fact that I was meant for the 60s, so their only was of accepting it was rejecting me. Jenna is my best friend in the entirest world. She's a hippie, too. We both love The Beatles and we both wore tye dye and peace signs. We'd walk down the hall together singing Beatles songs at the top of our lungs. People would stare, but we wouldn't care. We'd laugh and sing and we'd love it. But deep down inside, I was hurting.

Was it my need to be accepted?

In 6th grade, I truly tried anything to be accepted. I begged my mom to take me to get Silly Bandz once they became a fad. I cracked annoying jokes to the teachers, causing me huge embarassment when they yelled at me. The kids laughed, and so did I, but deep down, I hurt. No matter how hard I tried, nobody would take an intrest in me. They all just teased me about my hippie-ish advance on the world and my lack of intrest in pop music.

Then I met Josh.

Josh was a good friend. We found things we loved about each other. We both loved The Key of Awesome parodies and making videos. We both were smarter then most kids, since we had a different mindset that teachers call "gifted". They said we had the same mindset. Other kids didn't understand the way we gifted kids thought. Maybe that's why Josh and I understood each other well. We both complained when our gifted teacher gave us somewhat-low grades on projects, and we knew what the other was talking about. He was a great friend. Maybe one of my best friend. Other kids teased us, especially me. They thought just because a guy and a girl were hanging out like best friends, that we liked each other. Like, like-liked. As summer holidays came, he drifted away from me. He rarely replies to my text messages and my comments on YouTube. Is this a sign? Maybe things will change when school starts.


Blog to ya laterz,

~Erin~