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?

watch this, because it's awesome. 

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.”      

this is a link to my favorite love song. it will become your favorite too, i promise. 

time warp.

hello!


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. 

"be brilliant."

is what my english professor told me when i became a staff member of the inkwell. well, she said that and "expose the bullshit." my first week at the newspaper has been an eventful one. i read the entire "ap stylebook of 2010," cried on the floor, and hid in the closet every time the editor called me to find out where the articles were. 


so, i am pleased to introduce you to the final product.


click here to read about one of armstrong's black history events 

click here to read about the economic forecast of the coastal empire region

my first byline/article ever. 


listen to this song because it leads to a dance party. every time. 

english 1102.

greetings! college is back and i am finally reaping the rewards of all of my hard work from last semester. which includes being hired by the inkwell, armstrong's newspaper! the newspaper even has an official website so i can send you links of my articles, how swell, right?


it was my first day back and my english professor immediately asks us to write our definition of literature:

Beverly Cleary helped me grow up. C.S Lewis is why I have an imagination. Howard Roark (The Fountainhead) is the greatest misunderstood and badass character in all of literature. I painted my room yellow, got a haircut, and rode my bike for hours on end after reading about Edna Pontellier (The Awakening). I felt at home with Joan Foster (Lady Oracle) and after I read it I began journaling in hopes to look back one day and find my own versions of dance recital fiascos, Royal Porcupines, and fake deaths. Frankenstein warned me about just how terrifying revenge can be. Three Cups of Tea changed the course of how I process information. The Great Gatsby is the grand influence of my fashion sense (I swoon over the thought of the crisp linens, seersucker, dresses, and bowties.)  On The Road made me feel antsy and in search of adventure. I have stared at The Avoider (a painting at the High) for hours because as unhealthy as it is, my philosophy tends to lean towards hoping that problems go away if they’re ignored. I am a product of a childhood spent listening to Paul Simon and James Taylor, they are present in every memory I have. The Format (the greatest band to ever live) is how I survived high school and why I’m on the indie side of life. Their lyrics have weaseled their way into my everyday language. Literature is there when I brood, when I drive in my car, when I feel restless, when I am devastated beyond measure, when I am elated. Literature is drinking hot tea and reading blogs, and rejoicing with others as our favorite band plays on stage. Literature changes people. Literature changes me. Literature makes my heart ache.  Literature is home. 

well, later days (p.s listen to this song.)

breakfast club.

a few days ago, i was asked to write about a tradition that i have, but other than going to school, work, church, and the occasional frozen yogurt, my "traditions" resemble more of a to-do list and less of a story told after the holidays (i.e "my family and i always vacay at the beach house over the winter break"). but there is one "to-do" activity that i have become proud of as my life as a college kid progesses, and that is my weekly "pancake and chocolate milk breakfast." every saturday my college has a pancake bar (varieties of batter, syrup, fruit, and whatnot) and because of this, saturday brunch has become one of my favorite traditions, because that is when i enjoy the greatest breakfast ever and i get to spend a few hours reading my Bible and going through my devotional. 


i am applying to a few christian summer camps and all of the applications asked me to share my testimony, so rather than share an essay that i wrote for english class (which i usually do on this blog) i am sharing the essay that i wrote for my summer camp counselor applications. (and if anyone would like to be a reference, just let me know, lol.)

I’m not sure when I was saved, whether it was at VBS when I was seven or if it was February 3^rd when I was 18. I used to be obsessed with the answer, I desperately needed to know when it was, but I’m not so worried anymore, because I am saved and that’s all that matters.

So anyway, I am saved. For the past 10 years I have loved God, I have reserved Sundays for God, and I have joined all of the Church centered activities at church and school. 

But there’s always that feeling, I guess. Like when I realized that I wasn’t going to be the cool kid in school, when the boy broke up with me the day before Prom, when I didn’t get the part I wanted in the play, I didn’t make the soccer team, I couldn’t afford the college I wanted to go to, not everyone showed up to my party, or when my best friend turned out to be not my best friend. All of that stuff got to me, made me believe that I wasn’t special. I thought that if I couldn’t keep the attention of a bunch of 16 year-olds, how was I ever going to captivate the Creator of the Universe?

So I developed a belief that I was mediocre. That God loved me because He promised that He would love everyone, so it was kind of like when people say, “I love them because God says to love everyone, but I don’t like them.” And that was how God viewed me, He loved me because He loves everyone, but He didn’t like me.

For my devotionals, I was convicted about how I would rather read books about the Bible instead of the Bible, so I decided that my quiet time would be a book of the Bible. Because of this, I have read through the New Testament several times, but I kind of ignored the Old Testament. I felt that the Old Testament was just that, old. I perceived it as irrelevant, a list of rules that we no longer had to follow because Jesus died on the cross. But when I started college, I felt led to read the Old Testament, to see what it was really all about. It angered me, truth be told. I found myself enraged at the Israelites, God’s chosen people. They were saved after years of enslavement, they walked through the Red Sea, they defeated all of their enemies, their bread and meat fell from the sky, and their water supply came from rocks; because they were God’s chosen people and God loved them. But they didn’t care. It was as if they watched the Red Sea part, walked right on through, and watched as the Egyptians drown in the sea, and then they praised God. But then the next day they forgot about all that God had done for them and has promised to do for them, and they went off to worship the bull they made out of gold.

I couldn’t stand it. All I have been waiting for was for God to part the Red Sea for me, and He did it for His chosen people and they acted like it was a common occurrence, like they deserved it.

That was when I realized that I was the Egyptian. God created me so that His chosen people could shine. The Red Sea would have never needed to be parted if the Israelites were not being chased by the Egyptians.

I was reading the book of Jeremiah one night and I came to verse 31:3,

“And I have loved you with an everlasting love.”

And that was that. God loved me with an everlasting love. It was as if the words were on fire, in 3-D, moving across the page. That verse was for me. It canceled out the way of thinking I have lived by for the past 10 years. God loves me with an everlasting love, not because He feels obligated.

After further reading, I realized that God was speaking to the Israelites when He said that. God was telling the Israelites that He loved them with an everlasting love. God thinks of me as an Israelite, as one of His chosen people, He parted the Red Sea for me.

The Creator of the Universe loves me with an everlasting love, and that’s what’s up.  

just a song that i really like.

dear washer and dryer,

the other day my challenge was to write about the relationship i had with my washer and dryer. 
i set it aside and eventually forgot all about it until laundry day, a.k.a the day in which i face adversity. 


so naturally, i wrote a letter to washing maching # 8 and dryer # 22.

            Allow me to be blunt. I love you. I adore you. Without you I cannot live comfortably. I would be stale; I would have an odor of decay about me, as if I was dying without you. I think about you all the time, wondering when I will be able to see you. Sometimes we’ll meet after my afternoon class, other times late at night when the rest of the complex leaves to engage in nights of debauchery, leaving us alone. But alas! You run so cold and hot! There are moments when I feel as if I am the only girl in the world. But then there are the days when I feel as if you do not even remember who I am. I walk in and see all of these people using you, talking to you, but yet you stay with them, those that do not respect you, they sit on you and leave you messy and in disarray. They don’t love you like I do, but I feel as if you won’t make room for me, so I leave. Have you no soul? Do you not understand the mind of a teenage girl? All of this switching back and forth has done a number on my heart.  I run a few more miles on the treadmill, fix my hair, finish the rest of my textbook assignment, wash dishes, bake muffins, and get an update on the political ticker. I do anything that would make me more appealing to you when I return. Because I always return. Rather than ignore me, you jeer at me. You disagree on everything that I say. I say hot, you say cold. I want brights and you want wool. You refuse to work, you yell at me incessantly, you burn and shriek and gnash your teeth.  I resort to kicking and screaming, hoping that you would open up to me. You make me wonder why I stay with you, why I couldn’t will myself to walk out the door and never see you again. But you are not a friend that I can delete on Facebook. I can’t leave you. You have what I need, what I’ve been longing to get back all day.  You finally stop, once we realize how silly we look. I walk out the door, knowing that time will heal all wounds and I will forget how difficult you are just in time to go through it all again. 

this is how doing the laundry makes me feel.