Monday, February 21, 2011

sheena is a punk rocker.

in case you haven't noticed, i am fascinated by the bad girl. not the connotation that the term "bad girl" conjures today (cough, rihanna, cough) but what the moniker truly means, to be a bad ass. one of my favorite books, "Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him," has the line "she was the girl they wrote rock'n'roll songs about." the girl the book is describing is simply marvelous, she is captivating, people hang on her every word. I wanted to know her, I wanted to be her. 

so when the assignment was to write whatever we wanted, the sentence came to mind. i finished the essay four hours before it was due and it was a terrible nightmare the entire time, but it was returned with good marks and my professor even said she was impressed!

so ladies and gents, today i present to you a seminar on how to be a bad girl. 

The Girl They Write Rock Songs About
Remember to keep an ice pack on the hickey and have second thoughts about the boy that gave it to you, good lovers never leave marks; dab your lips with foundation before applying the red lipstick otherwise you’ll look like a clown before the night is over; is it true that you lost your panties?; the walk of shame is never okay, leave the party before you’re left; this is how to hold your liquor;  always know where your panties are, or you will never like the way they come back to you but I never lose my underwear and I’m never ever the one left; girls like us don’t cry, we bite our lip, flip our hair, and saunter away; eat the ice cream if you want, just be sure it’s not because of a boy; it’s okay to leave questions unanswered, no one cares about a girl who gives all of her secrets away; sunbathe topless, tan lines are for the goody two-shoes; this is how to reply to the girls who call you a slut I wasn’t naked, I was wearing his shirt; use liquid eyeliner to create the cat eye so you don’t end up looking like a raccoon; this is how to smoke a cigarette to make your voice sound raspy; this is how to write a song about a man that has done you wrong; this is how to sneak out of the house while your parents are downstairs; this is how to sneak into the house before your parents notice that you’re gone; this is how to hide all evidence that you did not spend the entire night in your room; this is how to toe the line of being a tease and a slut; this is how to cure a hangover; remember that boys like the chase, once you let them catch you they won’t like you anymore; it’s the good girls who keep diaries, girls like us don’t have the time; this is how to hide your music collection from your parents; remember to save all of the desire for revenge for a song, only sluts start drama;  this is how to escape the small town that suffocates you; this is how to move to the city; this is how to become the snarky waitress that the regulars love; this is the freedom you feel once you realize your life will be nothing but art and music and friends from this moment onward; this is how to get out quick when things get too serious; the staples of our closet are Levi’s, converse, and band tees; this is how to turn your apartment into a refuge for underground artists and musicians; there is nothing sexy about being a sloppy drunk or a sloppy lover; when at a concert, dance with your hips only; sluts chase the band, girls like us live with the band; if you don’t have to wrestle with your pants when you put them on, they’re not tight enough; sluts talk about other people, girls like us talk about ideas and places we’ve been; the way I see it, we want to live this way forever, and the good girls are the ones who die young; this is how to use the hairspray to give volume but not make your hair stiff; girls like us don’t call boys, nor do we have to worry about boys ever “forgetting” our number; be sure to keep the songs written about you for your grandchildren to hear and know that there is truth behind the stories; but what if no one writes a rock’n’roll song about me?; do you really mean to say that after all of this you are not going to be the kind of girl they write rock’n’roll songs about?

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

love is what i got.

this post was meant for valentines day, but alas i was too caught up in enjoying the day that i never did find the time, sorry about that. and for more bad news, the essay that you are about to read isn't a new one, for it is what  you would dub "an oldie but goodie." i wrote it last year in high school when my english class was asked to write about our definition of love. now that a year as gone by, i still stand by my definition, and maybe you'll agree with it too. 

"if you're a bird, i'm a bird."

Love. Known of but not known, a celebrity of sorts, everyone wants it but no one knows it, no one knows why they want it, what they want. But they find themselves longing for it anyways. I want love. Not angry, violent love. Certainly not jealous. None of that, “she was my first love, I will always care deeply for her, but I love you too, babe,” nonsense. I want a sundress and blazer sitting quietly on a park bench reading and watching the picnic-ers, dog walkers, and rollerbladers. A bicycle built for two on the boardwalk with sand in my shoes, sun on my face, death cab for cutie in my ears. An exchange of secrets along with mix tapes. Split of the newspaper over a milkshake with two straws. Corny knock-knock jokes, goofy sing-alongs, and Chinese fire drills at red lights. The drinking of straight black coffee under the pretense that we are grown-ups engaged in the discussion of ideas. Standing, hand-in-hand, in front of a piece of art at the museum, gawking and then sharing a smile, being struck instantaneously by the overwhelming knowledge that it was much like love, something spoken about at parties, meant to give the allusion of a philosopher, an authority, for everyone should smile and nod their heads in agreements, for they have no clue what you are talking about. And much like mouthwash, if it burns it must work, if an idea does not make sense, if it is not tangible, it must be a philosophy. Something worthy enough to agree with in hopes that you too will be seen as an intellectual giant. Swaying to and fro on the porch swing, sipping sun tea, mere guests of the orchestra that is birds, joggers, and VH1 top twenty countdown. Saturday afternoons spent at the library in hopes that the rain will hold off until after the paddle boating adventure.  I don’t know how this is to happen. but when I ponder all the many possibilities in the duration of the lovely class of mathematics, proof that the universe revolves on the laws of irony, I do believe that as he and I paint the story along with the walls, I will say, “and I do believe that I knew that it was you I wanted to be walking next to.”      

Friday, February 11, 2011

time warp.


confession, due to a recent discovery of "time warps" a time in which the local frozen yogurt boutique announces a time of fifteen minutes when frozen yogurt is free, my friends and i have done nothing but play candyland, drawn on chalkboards, and indulged ourselves in yogurt (my favorite being the original and gummy worms.)

because of this, very little else has been done, so all i have is a link to the two brand spankin' new articles that i have written for the inkwell. but take heart! (literally, monday is valentines day) for i have just recently turned in my english paper and i can't wait to share it. 

click here to read about the student organization, HOLA (which is rather fantastic, armstrong is teeming with heroes.) 

click here to read about a performance based on the lives of eleanor roosevelt and martha bethune. 

i am in love with a man by the name of tom lehrer. 
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...