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~