The Stages of Indie

 

DISCLAIMER: I am not saying that any of this is necessarily a bad thing...

stage one: the indie obsession

Symptoms: Obsession with new music, clothes from DI, and old inventions. Hatred of anyone who likes the same bands, etc, as you. Trying to become friends with people you never really have wanted to become friends with.

Google searches may include: "how to dress indie" "indie music" "what does indie mean" "how to be indie"

 

stage two: the indie mock

symptoms: endless jokes about being mainstream or indie. wearing ugly clothes(not the oddly beautiful ones, the just plain ugly and everyone knows it ones) a sudden obsession for crafts, denying that you are in any way, indie

Google searches may include: "Hipster Ariel""Hipster Kitty" "Hipster Hitler"

stage three: the if you say indie like that one more time, i'm going to slit your throat

Symp-enough said

stage four: the finally knowing who you are stage

symptoms: getting rid of the bands you pretended to like, lack of indie related google searches

if you find yourself able to casually use the words indie, hipster, or mainstream in normal conversations, you may just be cured.

Mom? I think I have a case of the Indies.....*gasp*

Today I saw him in the halls, and he smiled. I keep telling myself its over, but today i realized the truth:

I'm still in love with Stetson Richey

{I cannot see how in the world it's possible, but feel free to make this post about Nathan Gallagher}

Blue is an exciting color.

Today while walking to the bus I saw something bright blue on the grass. Naturally, I looked down, expecting some wrapper or old piece of candy. Instead, I was horrified to see a small bird, coming out of a broken egg. A baby bird with eyes and a beak. A dead baby bird. 

And I guess it hit some nerve in my emotional subconscious. Because I just sat there, and stared at the poor creature. I wondered if it knew it was falling. I wonder if his mother came back and wondered where her baby had gone.

{I don't know how, but find some way to make this about Nathan Gallagher}

Please stop pretending to be the same person you were. There is no shame in changing, only in lying to yourself.

{if you didn't know, this post is about a boy named Nathan Gallagher}

If I get one more ticket, bye bye drivers liscense. that would be tragic.

But don't worry, apparently I'm a pretty decent speech writer and giver(?). So i guess that could always work out. And, according to Tesa Jones, I "should be a writer"....not like I've been planning on it for all eternity....

Tah Dah

 You can read it if you want.

My name is Emily Henson. I can’t sing, I can’t dance, and I can feel a giant zit beginning to form right in between my eyes. I don’t get straight A’s and haven’t won any major awards recently. My name is Emily Henson, and despite all this, I love myself. Now I know I’m not perfect, I have flaws and somedays I just want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world. But it would be an injustice to me, and the people I love, if I let those small imperfections hold me back.
Seven out of ten girls believe that they flat out aren’t good enough, in looks, grades, or relationships. They don’t feel that they measure up to the world’s standards. 75% of those girls have reported that they engage in harmful activities in order to cope. 75% develop an eating disorder, bully others, smoke, drink, or even begin to physically harm themselves. Age 9. An age we associate with freedom. Playing outside. Learning cursive. Recess. Age 9. The age where more than half of all girls have attempted a diet. Age 9.
Is this the kind of world that we want to live in? Do we want a world that tells us from age 9 that we’re never good enough? Sure, that one surgery helps but if you just went on this diet, imagine how beautiful you could really be. In all truth, beauty has nothing to do with the the color of our eyes or the measurement of our waist lines. Beauty is developed when you finally give yourself permission to look in the mirror and smile.
Now boys. You’re thinking this in no way applies to you. You may not care what your hair looks like or if your outfit matches completely. No, self esteem isn’t an issue for males. They’re tough. They don’t need reassurance. They are born with confidence. Well I’m here to tell you that that is a lie. I won’t pretend to be an expert on the male mind, but I do know that every time he runs a little faster, every time he gets the girl, and every time you don’t live up to the expectations of being a man, your self confidence drops.
In order to change this seemingly unchangeable trend for our children, for our friends, and for ourselves, we have to start now. Sven Goran Eriksson once said, “To wish you were someone else is to waste the person you are.” Let’s stop wasting ourselves. We all have a purpose in this world. We all have the opportunity to be great. And yet we all seem to so easily forget that.
We see the characters on the screen, their perfect lives. Their perfect bodies and perfect lovers. We have been letting fiction fool us into thinking that a perfect life is flawless. A real perfect life only requires one thing: knowing you deserve to live it. All this negativity and judgement gets piled up in our minds until finally, we feel nothing but insecurity and incompetence. The world will try and tell us that we can’t do it, that we’re not good enough. And we have the power to stand up and say to them that yes we are, and yes we can.
Wake up in the morning and smile. Smile at yourself in the mirror, smile at the people you come in contact with, and smile just because you can. It’s astonishing the impact that one smile can have on the people around us, and on our own happiness.
I know smiling can’t fix absolutely everything. We doubt ourselves everyday. We see our flaws, and we automatically assume that that is all everyone else sees. We’re wrong. We have the ability to ignore our flaws, but even greater is our ability to transform them into our strengths.
Strengths. What makes us firm, what gives us our power. We all have them, we just need to explore ourselves in order to discover them. And when you do, don’t be afraid to use them. Show them off. Don’t let fear keep you from shining, from making a difference. As Marrianne Williamson once said, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.”
My name is Emily Henson, I am powerful beyond measure, and I deserve to live my life to the fullest. I don’t have time to list all your names, all your faults, and all your strengths. So I deliver this challenge to you today. Don’t let the people of this world tell us who we are to be, what we are to look like, and how we are to act.  Don’t ever forget how much you mean to the people who surround you, and how much we don’t give a crap about the zit on your forehead. And maybe one day you will realize that you deserve to be just as happy as the rest of the world seems to be.

Does anyone even put pop tarts in the toaster anymore?

....this post is obviously about Nathan Gallagher

I feel like a good cry is in order

There are just those times in life, where I wish I could sit down and sob. I wish I could scream and I wish I could tell you how i really feel. But I can't. 

If being mature means pretending it's fine when it's not, then screw maturity. I spent my entire childhood pretending the world was something it isn't. I pretended that you were perfect, and I pretended to be blind. 

When the time comes to open your eyes, all seems as it should be. But slowly the colors start to fade and the shadows emerge. Suddenly that once perfect world is juxaposed with a wasteland of hurt, and there is nothing I can do about it.

If i could have one wish, I would save my little siblings from ever knowing the flaws of this world. I would let them live and die in a world of fantasy, and then maybe they could be as happy as they deserve to be. If only wishes came true.

{Insert reference to Nathan Gallagher}

It's almost Summer.

I really like Summer.

{Insert something to do with Nathan Gallagher}

EriC

This is eric:

enough about eric.

Dear Dr. Reid,

I'm in love with you. I love that you know everything. I love that you can read faster than a speeding bullet. I love your statistics. I find your bulletproof vest and amelia earheart hair sexy.

Love,

M

I think that secretly all we want to do is fall in love. We can all pretend to be independent and self sufficient, but I think deep, deep down we're all waiting for that one person. They don't have to be perfect or even extremely good looking. I think it would just be nice to know that we're never alone.

Ok, Utah weather. It's time you and I had a little chat. You are not allowed to tease me like this! You give me one perfect weekend and then pour endless rain onto my head? Who does that? I even got slightly tan. A tan which, without regular exposure will surely fade. And then I will be back to my wonderful, ghostly self. Not that I mind.

Dear you,

I want you back. Just the way it used to be. Nothing complicated. Just you, making me smile.

Always,

Me

I am determined to make this summer a good one, maybe even the best one so far. Though I am not entirely confident that I have the ability to do so. Last summer was so incredible. I met most of my best friends. I met a beautiful boy and fell for him quickly. A boy, whom I would've bet you $1,000,000 dollars would never kiss me. (I bet you wish you would've taken that bet). I stayed out late and talked on the phone for hours. I climbed trees and laughed away my belly fat. I think I found myself. I am still discovering Emily Henson everyday, but I won't ever feel as unsure as I used to. Because I found out that I'm actually worth something, and that maybe, just maybe, I deserve to be just as happy as the rest of you.

It's Kind of a Beautiful Thing.

And then it was Summer, and the rest is history.

Bad Decisions Make for Excellent Stories

 

If no one I knew read this blog....I'd have a lot more to say say.

This is what you've been wishing for.

None of the following would have been possible if it weren't for the nice weather. Therefore, all credit must be given to mother nature.

Friday:

Knight stocking

Boy(Jonah) stalking

Facebook Stalking

Blog Stalking

Plain old normal stalking

Saturday: 

Well it all started with Kaitlyn and I finally following through on our weekly plans of "let's do something super exciting this weekend" I don't even know where to go after that. Prolly Target(where we met addy), Hawaiin Ice, A field, Kaitlyn's house, Wal Mart, Nathan's house, Kaitlyn's house, Wal Mart, another field, Kait's again, and then Water Gardens. But those are just some possibilities.

In all honesty, nothing we did was "super exciting". Just lots of simple, wonderfully simple, things. Like borrowing tweasers and listening to music. Kind of like forgetting to wear shoes and getting stuck at a cash register for twenty minutes with a beautiful boy called Jackson. It was a day full of hypothetical phone calls that were just that, hypothetical and not actually real like Mr. Matt Davis assumed, and eating mac and cheese even though we didn't know if we liked it. Rolling down the windows felt nice.

And treats. Lots of treats.

Life looks better through sunglasses.

content.

Yesterday was easily one of the best weekends ever, and i have so much to write about it. but i must wait until tomorrow for today is mothers day, and i shouldn't even be on the computer. I plan to give my  mom a lanyard, along with her real gift. if you don't know why, read this:

 The Lanyard

By Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that's what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

"Let's Pretend to Buy Pregnancy Tests" 

-M

Twice in One Day, Because I can

I'm about to be a little controversial, and a lot honest.

I wish you were naked.

I wish we were all naked.

And nobody cared.

And we all were innocent.

And the world could focus

On something other than endless lust.

I'm thinking of dying my hair

About this color.

Because I can.

And because I'm young and dumb.

And I have no one to tell me that I shouldn't.

They just look happy.

And free.

Thats all.

This moring I walked outside after first period,

And, for the smallest instant,

I was back.

I was home.

It was one of those days,

Where the wind blew in from the west,

And the smell of saltwater

Reached the valley.

And you could smell the beach.

It was on of those days.

All I want in life.

Is a library in my house.

Full of adventures.

And maybe someone could kiss me in it.

That would be ok I guess.

I Think I'll Blog

Hi, I'm Emily, and I'm a heroin(e) addict.

I have a serious addiction to drugs, as well as female super heroes. The latter is the condition I'm most concerned about. Thank you for your support.

I rejected your call twice. I didn't answer when you knocked the first time, so its understandable that you knocked again. I guess I could've not heard you or something. it took you a while to leave. Then you came back and knocked two more times. I should've opened the door and yelled "leave me alone". but hey, lets not be melodramatic here.

if you aren't my anonymous commenter, you can skip this next rant

DEAR ANONYMOUS COMMENTER(s),

your mysterious comments are driving me mad. please make yourself known unto me. i have a suspicion that there are actually two of you, but you're not working together. maybe you both just like stressing miss emily out. thanks. i must say, however, that i do feel slightly tickled when i see comments, so i guess your contribution to my blogging life isn't completely negative. all suspects i have have denied it or been proven innocent. I'm begging you to reveal yourself(-lves). I may consider going on a blog strike until this matter is sorted out, but let's be honest, i don't think i would survive. 

I LOVE YOU IRONICALLY

M

Let's see.

I went to prom. It was wondrous and cliche and lovely. My Prince Charming took me on a wonderful adventure. Literally. He was sophomore prince.

We had a grand ole time.

<3

M