Impeach the Muffins

There is a terrible disease that is taking over the world! It is Poseritis, most commonly manifested as Indie Fashion. [Well actually, I don’t think any normal girl in the bible belt (yes I realize that statement was horribly contradictory) would tolerate it.] Anyways, I am not talking about legitimately indie and unique fashion. I am referring to the unbrushed hair, generic plaid, and personality purchased at Urban Outfitters that seems to be plaguing Los Angeles. ( Too be honest it’s not even the clothes that bother me, it’s the god awful superiority of the people who act like they are just too garsh darn fantastic to have a conversation. The ones who talk about the fairfax flea market like they own it. I have been going there since I was in uber early elementary, and I’m not entitled about it. It used to be fun for me to hang out there with my dad, no I have to deal with whiny hipsters in factory work shoes.)

As someone who dresses in an odd and unique way, I have always admired people who were daring with fashion. I myself have always stood out in a crowd, and much to the chagrin of the perfectly coiffed juicy girls I share a hometown with, I never had any shame.

I was ten years old and in the fifth grade when I first dyed a streak of my hair purple, and I found myself relishing in the comments on how bad it was that someone so young had such a horrid bit of purple hair. Mind you, I happen to know for a fact that these mothers had been dying their daughter’s hair to keep them honey blonde for some years.

Anyways, back to this Indie business. It really infuriates me, that people who happen to know a band that no one has ever heard of are able to claim that they are so damn miserably individual because of it! I will happily admit to you that I like bands that you have probably heard of. I also enjoy shopping at Target, and I have known about the horrors of Splenda and High Fructose Corn Syrup since my playground days. I was a very strange child, and i suppose now I am an equally shamelessly odd teenager. But I actually enjoy it.

Whew. Okay sorry that was so ranty, but moccasin sandals and incessant babble about Urban really get to you. On another note, I just re dyed my hair and it’s neon red, my mom and grandma say it looks very Alice in Wonderland, which pretty much sent me over the moon. :)

More Later from LaLa Land

<3

Delia

Okay so I, for Christmas got a subscription to Seventeen Magazine. I used to hate it, and then i started buying it at the newsstand every month and I realized it is lots of fun to read. Except for the fact that the adjectives they use are painfully common place, like “pretty!” “flirty!” “hot!” and it gets old pretty quick. In comparison, there is also Teen Vogue. I used to like Teen Vogue until I realized how condescending it was. I mean, they don’t even try to be accessible. They had an article in an issue I read over the summer about how the key items for any girls wardrobe were “it” items. The suggestion that really infuriated me was buying a classic Chanel bag, in three colors. I was in shock, I realize I have never had some wildly lavish lifestyle, but what teen girl can actually afford not one or two Chanel bags, but three!

I was talking to my friends at summer camp about it last august, and we came to a very wise conclusion. Seventeen is for making fun of the outfits, and Teen Vogue is for making fun of the editor.

So today I was at this meeting thing for teens in my school district. (I was attempting to be non specific about where I live, but heck I’m probably going to slip up pretty darn soon anyways.) At this meeting their was a guest speaker, from The ____________ ______ Courier. At first he didn’t bother me, until he unabashedly embraced his arrogance, and managed to slip in more than once that his paper was far superior to certain other papers. (Ahem, _____ ______ Weekly, a tactic that was very low of him, if you ask me, to try and prove how good you are by putting down another paper for no reason other than to make your own agenda seem better.) and commended a certain journalist with the initials A.H.

A certain journalist with the initials A.H. whom I happen to despise.

This guest speaker was a Conservative Republican, yet despite this I was trying my hardest to hear him out on his views of journalism, but he was so so ignorant. He informed us that he refused to learn how to use the Internet because he believed that as soon as got a grasp on it, what he had learned would be outdated and useless. Wrong! The Internet in cumulative, and refusing to learn guarantees that he will be reliant on others to run his business until he is dead. I thought republicans like power, but he actually refuses to gain the knowledge necessary to become a powerful person in the modern business world. Astounding. I feel so angry and ranty! He muttered on and on forever about his courier in journalism, yet I wanted to tear my hair out. He spoke about commitment to community in a way that made me feel guilty for wanting to explore the world. To be perfectly honest though, what really got to me was when he said that his paper staffed amazing journalists, and then he mentioned A.H. as one of them. I was furious and fuming and I wanted to scream to him, “Have you ever actually read one of her leads? It is so pitiful that actually opening the Courier after seeing one of her cover stories goes against all my survival instincts!”

Okay, so I am done bashing some old, likely religious, dinosaur for the time being.

My god— It’s still Monday, I can barely believe it!

LOVE-PEACE-SNUGGIES,

Delia

Okay so I think I must be really immature, but i adore “your mom” jokes, and it is even funnier if your replace “mom” with  ”mum” trust me! SO anyways, I have a soft spot for ones that aren’t so much mean as they are witty. For example, “you mom is so fat” is rather unfortunate, whereas “your mum wears athletic socks with her crocs!” is way more awesome. Catch my drift?

Anyhow, life is pretty good but I am in a perpetual state of tired, no joke. Five hours thirty minutes of sleep a night on average. Oh yes I know, you are sooo jealous!

Every time I blog I feel very self centered. This is mostly due to the fact that I am an astoundingly horrible typist so it takes a considerable amount of effort for me to capitalize my I’s. Each and every time I have to reach over and hit shift I realize more and more that I say I ALL THE TIME!

On another completely random and unrelated note, I have been thinking a lot about fashion lately. I actually have a lot of fun with it, putting together outfits that make me feel like a bag of skittles all decked out in bows, as if every day is a holiday. I just sometimes get so disoriented that outfits don’t quite work out… but usually they do, and I have realized that I should probably stock up on basics: denim shorts, black tights, black flats. You know, that kinda stuff. I don’t want to ramble on too much longer but something very funny happened to me on Black Friday! I was in line for the dressing room and right behind me stood none other than the middle aged Persian ice cream man from my high school. It was only a minorly awkward encounter since he recognized me first and asked the same question he asks me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. HE. SEES. ME. “So you are Brazilian right? And you are friends with Stephanie?” Same response everytime: yes, I am friends with Stephanie, no I’m not Brazilian, may i please have an orange Big Stik?

I have to learn all of the countries in Latin America now, so wish me luck!

xxxxxxxooooo,

delia <3

Speaking of music and bums and YouTube, I discovered that Kid Cudi’s music isn’t total crap. Honestly, his song Day N Nite was all that I had heard by him until i discovered the leaked tracks from Man on the Moon, and in my opinion Day N Nite was like listening to a self absorbed broken turntable with Autotune. The same boring line over. and over. and over. Painful. But Man on the Moon— FANTASTIC!! One song in particular, Pursuit of Happiness is my personal favorite. His one line “Tell me what you know about the night terrors, nothin’” struck a cord for me since I frequently suffer from terrible night terrors, in most of which I am mute, but I am the only one who knows it. As in my silence is understood as acceptance, meanwhile I’m screaming inside my head for my lips to form words. I imagine there is some symbolism behind it but truly, I am too scared to check. :)

So  every once in a while I get this twisted sick feeling of longing for the past, an angry nostalgia. It’s really difficult to describe. Like the worst cabin fever, and then you realize what you are longing to escape is your body, not your house and you realize you cant no matter how badly you wish, turn back time. It can be triggered by nearly anything, this deep confused longing, a baby picture featuring a collection of people it would be impossible to gather again. Or a song that reminds me of summer camp, or a memory of something that ended too soon. Do I sound like a corny love song? My dear god, I hope not. But really, it begins in my toes and I am filled with fear- am I really still here still whole? I want to badly to check under my bed covers and look to make sure all ten toes are there. I want to make to stop though. I don’t want to indulge my fears so I don’t look, i refrain from checking but i hear my heatbeat thumping pulses all over my body, my wrists my ears, behind my eyes. With each beat I grow more and more sure that my toes are gone, that I am slipping away. That my sanity is too, so I try to bolt out of bed slamming my feet hard against the ground, daring myself not to look at them. My will power caves and I make excuses “oh hmm it feels like mommy just vacuumed, now how bout that.” Or “Did something spill in here? I could have sworn I felt something on the ground as I stare intently at my toes not entirely believing that I’m whole. My eyes eat my hands with the wonder of  baby. Are they really mine? Is that possible, was it a dream. And the anxiety passes. And I am okay. Until that one song come on and makes my heart ache from the deepest of places for reasons I cannot explain and can just barely describe.

Ahaha. So my obsession with glitter is reaching new heights and is truly fantastic.

I have the flu…

I can only breathe through one nostril at a time (not kidding ;))

CANT WAIT FOR WATER POLO SEASON TO START!!!

loooooove,

delia

So tomorrow I will sort of embark on a very scary chapter of my life. Sort of. High School orientation. I am going to pee in my pants I am really scared. REALLY scared. No joke. But of course, i have words of consolation from every adult i encounter who learns that I will be an in coming freshman. “Well, actually, I hated high school. But you-” *Waves their hand vertically in front of them as though I am a Deal or No Deal briefcase* “You, you will be great I’m sure, i mean really its not like your, what, fourteen?” Oh umm actually yes. “Oh at least its not a big school?” Whoop dee do 2,000 kids … ahem. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about sports tryouts!” Lucky you you have hit the jackpot, because guess who has a group of 15 year old water polo girls waiting to tear her to sheds?

I’m really Just kidding, every one I’ve talked to has been really helpful and encouraging. Really I am super thankful. Did I ever mention that my grandma read Seventeen magazine in her teen years? My wise, insightful, generous, unmaterialistic, awesome grandma? Perhaps the guilty habit of reading such said magazine (a vice I am so much in denial of that i refuse to get a subscription, going on four months now, newsstand prices) will actually make me a better person. At least thats what i tell myself as i soak up an excess of atrocious fashion ideas. I have not blogged in a long time and I miss the feeling of sending your feelings into cyberspace. Oh, since I’m blabbing in a very stereotypical teenager-ish way as it is, im sure it wont hurt to mention that i got a new eyeshadow! Adore by Urban Decay, vegan and NO animal testing. What’s not to love?

Ahh the joys of youth. I am now struggling to come to terms with the fact that indeed I am much more average than I strive to or would like to be. And maybe that isnt the worst thing in the world, it gets tiring fighting to be different, and by no means to I mean to say that I plan on stopping, 100% all the time. Sorta. Wow proof I am a teenager I can’t even commit to being myself all the time. But who can? I try and faster than I can look out the rear window my life is zooming off and I am forced to fight even harder to be original and to let the rest of the world suck it. (pardon my adolescent slang.) Because quite frankly, all the adults who don’t think a kid can and will are just remembering the sour losers they once were. Perhaps harsh, but the self declared Queen of Geekdom knows sometimes tough love is the only way to get original people out there. In this big bowl of cheerios, we need a few fruit loops to tide us over.

Love and Dr. pepper

Delia

i was kinda going crazy with all those dot dot dots! So today i will blog about MY HAIIR!!!!!!, aspect by aspect, in a good day/bad day format. Okay, here-it-goes!

My hair:

On a good day: On a good day my hair makes me largely resemble an unkempt and over excited cocker spaniel. It is confused and is not sure if it is wavy, straight or actaully a tumbleweed with an identity crisis.

On a bad day: Well, on a bad day my hair is like a small frizzy planet and unless completley soaked and blow dryed WILL NOT actually come close enough to my head for it to be recongnized as my hair. These days i spare tourists the pain and stay home. :)

On actually quite nice days: My hair every once in a blue moon decides to either take on waves or lay straight (with the assistance of a very hot ceramic appliance). These days are few and far between but are very relieving, as the prove that my hair actaully has hope for the future.

So i have been latley enjoying spelling things the way they sound.

for example: LMAO= elle ehm ayy oh!

French toast= friends chost

computer is running out of battery= kom pewter ishrun nine guh owht uhv bat terries.

talent huh? I think so. Berlin is lovely and i am sad to leave but excited to see my bella bell!!!!

love

delia

I know exactly what it will feel like the day i realize that there is no god.

The sun will shine a little brighter and i will be weightless. A feeling of peace and relief will wash over me. After all, I will have been waiting a long time for this. All the answers will remain without questions. I will feel light. I know this is how it will happen, because in dreams it has happened this way so many times before. The freedom that comes with no longer worrying or caring about the meaning of it all. The urge so just breathe out in a great whoosh and float upward. I crave the day, I  long for it. But i am also scared of it, i don’t want to rush it. Because with knowledge comes responsibility. A responsibility i am not quite ready to take on. I will be weightless. I will be free. But ultimately unchanged. Because i had been waiting for what i had known was coming all along. I will be a light to guide. Only god knows what… see? i’m not quite ready to give up my belief in a three letter word that I so openly criticize.

It will happen as my foot steps off the curb, crossing the street to church.

until then i am bound to god.

Okay so here is little me taking a nice shower one morning. And you see I am really fascinated by my razor. It has not just “conditioning strips” but like mega huge gooey soap things on either side of the blades that smell like roses and tea. So anyways, the soap thingy got folded up and stuck in the blades. And me, brilliant genius that I am, I though I could skim my thumb along the blades and get the soap out. And it worked. Well, for a little while at least. And then, the sharpest most searing quickest pain shot to the base of my spine and then temporarily subsided. I looked at the blood, moving so fluidly, it was hard to imagine was blood at all, moved out of the the white lips freshly made by my razor and slipped over my thumb resting briefly to run through the crevices made by finger print and then conitinued to meet with my very wet wrist and fade away.

It hurt less when I squeezed it, so i did and then ran my thumb over a tile on the wall. The blood dillouted and ecame pinkish taking a way the shock of how bright it was initially as opposed to the dark blu-ish ooze that I was expecting. And I gave my thumb another tight squeeze and the nearly translucent flaps dripped out a bit more and I just watched the blood run, my thumb now mostly numb from the pain. It made me think that even though we briefly notice the small things in life and try to pay attention, we end up losing them all together. But we don’t feel guilty about it, it just flows and forget, and is eventually forgotten.

Like the blood. At first it was thwarted, for lack of a better adjective, and tried to run itself through the dry rivers of my finger print. But as the blood flowed more feely it just dripped and drizzed rigth on past and over. Quickyly and then melted into the the pale wet skin on my wrist until it became so dillouted it might as well have not been blood. Maybe at that point it wasnt.

Makes me think of a Tuck Everlasting quote. “How deep dos the ownership of land go?” I mean really when does omething lose enough of itself that it becomes something else? Is it really blood, cells, vitality? or is it just nothig, atoms all splitting apart, elements losing thier properties. Perhaps it doesnt belong to a name or genus at all.

love,

delia

- “I’m so awesome, I vomit glitter!”
- Shmexy Penguin
- “who wants to eat pancakes at the library? I DOO!!”
- “I’m going to make a playlist fo rmy plants”
- “How come no one loves pluto anymore? I love you, and its ok pluto, im not a planet either!”
- “is he like, half adopted?”
- “I dont ell alot of people this, so keep it on the dl, but im pro at pretending to be a jellyfish trainer!”
-“friends are like potatoes, if you eat them they die!” :(
- “its ok, that was the expected reaction, most people do the same thing once i tell them I’m clinically awesome.”

Balance I used to love walking on the balance beam when i was in preschool because i was good at it. And because they gave me cheerios when i was done. 99 Driving to fresno we saw a lot of vineyards. I saw the gnarled twised rooty trees, reaching upward with no hope of ever making it as high as they would of liked, and knew they gave birth to grapes, but for some reason they made me want to cry. Roads I once saw an old pick up truck when we were driving down the freeway. There were long wooden beams sticking out of the truckbed. And tied to the longest one was a little boy’s red sock. I asked my mom why it was there, and i already knew her answer wouldn’t satisfy me. It was there for safety, for logistical reasons. but to me it felt like that little red sock was a messenger of death. Sneeze I nearly always sneeze in threes. people have always told me that it was good luck. i always though it was a further outward manifestation of my clumsiness.

sigh of relief obama won

 the feeling that i made a differnece in the world, that there really is hope for a better tomorrow feeds my soul

thank you Mr. President of the United States of American   Barck Obama!!!

Or exremities rather.

It’s funny how we really dont notice how delicate our hands and feet really are. How fragile we are as a person. I mean our hand do all the work for us every day to get stuff done or to transmit sensory messages to our brains. Tie, push, rub, pull, untie, open, close, scratch, twist, press, snap. Fingers are busy.
Toes, in your shoes all day are only allowed to get sweaty and hot only given the jsutice the deserve once in a while on that oh-so-plush rug at so-and-so’s house.

But your belly button on the other hand sit safe pressed up against soft shirts or tucked away under a thick comforter. Of wrapped in a hug. Soft and vulnerable.

A belly button is what people wish they weren’t but take for granted that they are.

Soft, lovable, vulnerable, protected, (or not), often kept hidden from others, real self masked away.

So please thank your belly button for me, cause though it may be pampered,it has seen a lot, and it is by far the cutest button around.

everyone knows the best belly button is the one that’s yours.

My favorite friend, belly button, this one is for you. (not the belly button tucked away in mt shirt, but MY belly button)

xoxoxo

i love you grammy

delia rose