Monday, December 16, 2013

Things That Bother Me--OP #1

Things that have Happened that Bother Me
            Before I start, I just wanted to say that on this paper, for the most part whenever I’m saying the word “you,” I’m really talking about myself, but using “you” instead of “I” or “me” made me feel like less of a basket case. Moving on. There are certain things that just bother me, like bees. I hate bees. They are tiny, yellow and black striped insects that swarm around you, driving you crazy with their ceaseless buzzing. Kind of like freshmen, except for the stinging at will part. Spiders are just as bad. Whenever I see one of those furry monsters, I flip out. A few days ago, there was a spider in my bathroom. At first look, I could have sworn that it was a black widow (Not that I know what they look like or anything, I just assumed that if you were a poisonous spider, you would look like the one in my bathroom). After tripping over my hair dryer cord and knocking a mirror off my counter, breaking it in my struggle to get out of harm’s way, I realized that I’m being ridiculous. I decided to work out my problems, so I made a deal with the spider, whose name is now Theodore. As long as he stays out of my way, I will not have my mom kill him. He kept his promise, or so I thought, but then I realized that he hasn’t moved for 3 days and that he’s dead. Which is annoying because if I had known that he was just going to bite the dust, I would’ve saved him from the pain.
            What really gets to me is when my people just die. One of them was a fire fighter and he really enjoyed putting out the flames, obviously, and chopping down doors to get people out of harm’s way who were too stupid to leave their house in the first place. At the firehouse, there was a vending machine in an isolated dark corner, which I always thought was kind of creepy, so I avoided it completely. However, he did not, so instead of being a good citizen and paying for a candy bar, he decided to slam into it, in hopes of snagging a free snack. This then promptly caused the vending machine to fall on top of him, pop back up, and leave his blunt force trauma ghost curled up in the fetal position while the grim reaper stole his soul. His family was in a depression for days, which worsened whenever their brother was trapped in a small room with no windows or doors, only flammable rugs and an overabundance of cheap fireplaces. Since he could not escape, he inevitably burned to death, followed by his ex-wife, who drowned in a pool with walls around it, making it impossible to save herself. The most tragic part about this is that the firefighter was my favorite sim and his death was completely accidental. The other two were of no use to me anymore, so I killed them off out of rage for his unjust death.
            Some people just make me want to move to a different country. Justin Bieber is a great example. He sometimes honestly causes me to just sit there with my mouth open, speechless, blinking like an idiot. I thought Canadian’s were supposed to be nice. “Nice” doesn’t include trying to start a fight with the paparazzi to make you seem tough because let’s face it, even if he was a man, he would never be threatening. Peeing in a bucket in public does not help either. It is gross and I don’t think he should be allowed to cross the border anymore. Where does he live? Is he an American? But seriously, Canada, send us more great hockey players, maple syrup, moose, yaks, and killer whales, but be selfish for once and keep Justin for yourselves. Ceilings that come crashing down bringing the second great flood of death and destruction are so not my piece of cake. Especially when it decides to interrupt your art class and you were almost done stapling canvas into wood with a stubborn stapler who didn’t like shooting pieces of metal into a former tree, when all of a sudden, it’s just like BOOM! Water is everywhere and this primal instinct to grab your stuff and run for the door, not caring who falls over in your wake, just as long as you get out of there alive, sets in. Your adrenaline crazed mind takes control and you can’t get rid of this horrible urge to shout, “It’s called Natural Selection, slow pokes,” at the stragglers who didn’t get to the door fast enough and had pieces of ceiling and water all over them. While the more civilized side of your brain is thinking, “You know, maybe you shouldn’t have been the first one out the door.” What’s even more annoying is that whenever you leave the art room for safety and go into the back of the auditorium and someone goes, “Oh my gosh guys, look at the ceiling, you can see water stains. They’re spreading. It’s definitely going to cave in on us.” First off, in that type of situation, you are already so paranoid that if someone drew cracks on the wall with a sharpie and said that water was going to come bursting out anytime now, you’d think it was the end of the world. Second of all, if the ceiling is going to become a water spout, don’t take pictures of it. There were people taking photographs of the ceiling where the supposed watermarks were. I wonder how they’ll feel when they realize that they just took pictures of a dirty, old ceiling. I guess that some people have an automatic flight or Instagram reaction. Then it is in the cafeteria and everyone is like, “Oh my gosh. This is crazy! We are all going to die. Why can’t we go home?” People just get to me.  
            In conclusion, I think I should get out more often so that maybe I’ll get used to these things that annoy me so that I can begin to like the human race and make real friends instead of having to have imaginary ones.


OP #2- Things I Love (and some sarcasm)

Things I love
Since my last OP focused on what I hate, I’ve decided to balance out my negativity and write about what I love. I love orange juice. I don’t necessarily enjoy the color orange because it’s like an overrated construction cone, but I can drink an entire carton in a day. I love to read. To me, it’s not just the boring repetition of skimming over black text on a cream colored page. Instead it’s experiencing a story that only exists because an author gave their imagination a corporeal form through pen and paper. I love the way writers entwine a piece of their soul into each word, leaving their secrets, experiences, and qualities of their mind hidden within their work. I love how eventually you find your book, the book you just connect with on so many levels, or as John Green once said, "Books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal." I am a booklover because I have control over what I read. If a novel is remarkably boring and I’m not having it, I can shut the hardback with more force than necessary, I can throw it against my bedroom wall or I can give it away because the book isn’t working for me. I can’t do that with a kindle or person because they will break and my mom will probably call my therapist. Moving on, I love receiving books as presents; actually I love acquiring gifts in general, especially for Christmas.
Now I’m definitely a hardcore holiday fanatic. You see, if my parents actually supported me, they would allow me to put twelve fully decorated, 25-foot Christmas trees with 500 watt lights in the front yard, but alas, my parents are not as passionate as I am. Despite their Grinch-like attitudes, I’ve never let my spirit falter and, to this day, I absolutely love it when radio stations decide to play “Jingles Bells” and “Let It Snow” right after Halloween. Hearing those joyous melodies reminds me of how I spent more than 60 percent of my childhood listening to KidsBop’s Christmas Edition album, I’ve realized that those modified kid-friendly songs helped create the person I am today. I love Santa Claus because even though I stopped believing in 5th grade, I still remember writing him a letter each year on Christmas eve and always finding a full-page note waiting for me in the morning, despite the fact that for several year they were just illegible scribble. I later learned that my dad wrote the letters to fool me because I would’ve recognized my mom’s handwriting. But the thing I love the most about the holidays are the homes that have the glorious display of 30 different blowup chimneys and snowmen in their front yards. Why? Because each year, I am able to work on controlling my impulsivity by resisting the urge to take a machete and pop each demonic, gas filled Santa Claus, even though I would be doing a serious favor for mankind.
Moving on again, I love over the top sarcasm and the epitome of this growing art is found on Tumblr. I fell in love with Tumblr the second I joined and I haven’t wanted to leave my house since, but that’s okay because the day I made the conscious decision to click that sign up button, my life improved drastically. I finally feel accepted by the Internet, which is way better than people tolerating you in real life.  I love that I can learn the skills of procrastination and hermitry without even trying and it always amazes me when it’s 10 pm and then suddenly it’s 3 am, this happens to me a lot. One time at 1 am, Tyler Oakley, who is a famous youtuber and my most favorite person in the universe, liked my post and I literally fell to the floor shaking and silently fangirl screaming out of pure joy for an hour. It was intense. Before tumblr, I used to think that I was the only person who disliked everyone on this planet, but through hashtags and reblogs, I’ve found a small country’s worth of people who feel the exact same way. I love that beneath the witty and condescending posts on tumblr which make me laugh so hard, I cry, there is a meaning deeper than cats and supernatural fandoms. I love the hidden posts which are so profound that they make you pause, rethink your life, then reblog. I read one post a few weeks ago and I found it to be so perplexing that it ended up being the inspiration for my OP. This guy, our age, gets up on a stage and off the top of his head says, “If I ask you what you love the answers will likely roll off your tongue. You love to read, you love to write, you love birds, music, tattoos.. Your mom, your bother, your sister, your daughter, your best friend, your dog. How long you think you could go on and on before you said.. I love myself.” And I knew that I could go on forever.


Rubáiyát Poems--A Honors English II assignment

Deception
The harbinger of dreams, who begets man's deception,
Plants hope in a fool’s flawed perception
Fragrant red roses bloom from tainted desires
The bitter scent of decay hidden in misconception.

Ice, the web of spider befalls bug of man
Innocence in calculated falsities, cancer in bronzed tan
            Broken glass spread under a child’s wintry playground
Safety stolen on a frozen road in a spinning minivan.

Be careful, staggering they limp under the harvest moons
Stalking a buffet bar with dessert spoons
Searching for coveted wisdom to fuel their soul
The walking dead are mind-stealing raccoons.

Blatant insults hidden under words of praise
Snarky teenagers bite the heels of the questioning gaze
            Smirks disguised by teeth bared in welcome

Vanilla pudding in a jar of mayonnaise.  

My Mom and Voicemail--An Honors English II OP

The other day I was on my phone fueling my perfectly healthy addiction to Tumblr, when my phone starts ringing. Technically, it was vibrating since I refuse to be that person who has their volume turned up so high that everyone and their mother can hear it ringing. Actually, now that I think about it, I keep it on vibrate because I never want to become my mother. You see, she says that she can’t hear very well, but I believe that she has a deep-seated need to keep her volume on the loudest setting known to humankind. And let me tell you, even though she has a mediocre phone, that thing has speakers and subwoofers that would make God jealous. On top of that, she chose the ringtone responsible for every single bad thing that has ever happened on this green Earth and, since her friends have no sense when it is appropriate to call, her phone goes off several times during the night. I’ve actually stopped trying to get 3 hours of sleep because as soon as I begin to drift off, her phone is like, “HA HA HA. Not on my watch. LET ME PLAY YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE.” Then in morning, my mom asks me, “Oh Ali, what time did you go to sleep? You look horrible and exhausted.” I have to lay there for a few minutes, half dead, glaring at her through sleep-deprived eyes before I can say, “Didn’t you hear your phone go off ten times last night, mom? Cause I did.” To which she’ll reply, “I don’t see how that pertains to you not getting enough sleep. Stop making excuses.” Lately, my mom has been receiving more calls than telemarketers make in a week. So, throughout the day, the house will randomly start shaking. You know, plates rattling, picture frames falling off walls, the roof caving in.. and every time this happens my dad will come rushing into my room, out of breath, completely flustered, screaming, “WAS THAT ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE?” and I’m like, “No dad, that was just mom’s phone ringing..” “Ali, stop lying to your father. I’m calling NASA. These earthquakes are not natural.” We’re lucky we have such good insurance. When I’m out in public with my family, I tell my mom to put her phone on silent and she’s always like, “Oh Ali, don’t be such worry scurry rat. No one can hear it.” Five minutes later, her phone goes off and the aftermath results is everyone having permanent hearing damage in a 10,000 mile radius, countless reports of people’s heads exploding, Japan just got hit by a tsunami, and a portal to hell opened up in Kansas and there are demons running around like there’s no tomorrow. “Did I do that?”

Anyway, at first, I had no idea what was happening, then I realized that someone was calling me and I became unnecessarily angry with that person for interrupting me mid-reblog. Then I get a notification saying that they left me a voicemail. A voicemail. Excuse me, but I don’t have time to listen to your annoying voice. Okay? Who leaves voicemails anyway? The only people who are allowed to leave a message are my grandparents, but they’re a special case because they had to return their home phone to the store because they thought it was too complicated to use. But you know what, they don’t even leave a message, they just keep calling and calling until someone picks up, and if no one picks up the home phone, you know that my mom’s phone is going to be causing a couple natural disaster soon. You see, I just don’t understand the idea in having a voicemail. People rarely call me and it’s not like having one will magically make folks desire to chat with me. Heck, I won’t even answer. And have you ever tried to record a voicemail greeting? I swear to god, that is the utmost stressful processes in the universe. One day I tried to record a flawless salutation. It started out as, “Hello?............ Just kidding, I’m not actually here. Why the crap are you calling me anyways?” It took me 5 hours and it’s basically 2 and a half minutes of me ranting about how greatly I hate voicemail greetings. I literally needed to punch everyone who decided to call instead of text me in the throat for the next 2 months. So uh yeah, if you ever feel like calling me, don’t. In fact, I’ll block your number. In conclusion, shout out to Apple for making blocking my entire contact list possible.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Life = A Crossword Puzzle


It’s time for a change. I need a difference in my life, in my dreams, and in my heart. I want to know where I’m going, to be secure in my decisions.
But who ever said life was easy?
Life is like a crossword puzzle. Alone, the boxes could hold so many words; have countless answers, endless possibilities. You would never have the fear of being wrong, unless it is misspelled.

5 spaces.
Horse, doubt, crazy, dream, jumbo… You get the point.

But when there can only be one correct answer per question asked, what happens if your mind goes blank? When you do not know the right response?

You search.

Maybe for a long time, maybe for a little… if you have the resources (a.k.a. Google)
You look until you have found it, the piece that fits, the word that possibly fills in a blank space for another answer, connecting the solutions that are becoming clearer with every pencil stroke.
As more white squares are filled, understanding sets in, making the final questions easier to solve.

Life is like a crossword puzzle. As you find the answers to the problems put before you, you realize that they are intertwined. That somehow one solution leads to the next and the next and so on and so forth, until you’ve finally find the last piece of the puzzle that was missing. The past discoveries made about yourself are hints, cheats even, for the answers you have yet to solve.
But you shouldn’t stress when you’re unsuccessful. Life wasn’t meant to be figured out right away because, if it was, then things would be a lot easier.
If you don’t struggle, it means that you’re not trying or that you’ve already found the answer and the time has come to move on to the next question.