Reality Television

This evening, I sat down to watch television with my family. As usual, nobody could agree on anything. Ben, my brother, refused to do anything family related as he has recently joined the joy-hating teenager’s society and my Dad would only agree to cheesy sitcoms and low budget action movies. Finally, after the boys stormed out in frustration, Mom and I chose one of the few genres we could agree on: reality television. We settled into couch pillows and fuzzy blankets and started a random episode of Cupcake Wars.

This show involves three teams of aspiring bakers making thousands of cupcakes with weirdly specific themes and ingredients, but one of the most entertaining aspects of the show is the judging panel. Firstly, there’s the basic white chick, Candace Nelson. She says posh, complimentary things about literally every cupcake no matter how mushy or unattractive. Secondly there’s Florian Bellanger the snooty, anal-retentive French chef. He talks as if he had a small fish in the side of his mouth and his lazy accent makes fun of itself. Every critique sounds as if he takes out a thesaurus and uses fifty different synonyms for the word horrendous.

Though I know nothing about baking, or cupcake aesthetics, after a few episodes, I develop an opinion. It’s kind of funny actually. I will lean over to my mom and say things like, “That buttercream is too dense! I can’t believe Felicity just ruined that entire batch of cupcakes!” even though I have pretty much no clue about what I’m talking about.

Let’s all just be honest: judging people is fun! If you think you’re life is a mess, just watch The Bachelor! That’s why shows like Jersey Shore and Sister Wives exist: to make us feel like better people. Maybe I have a crappy job and no friends, but at least my hair doesn’t look like a greasy porcupine. Even if I have no money and no significant other, at least I’m not living in a house with my husband, his six other wives, and their nasty children. So…basically I consider reality television, along with copious amounts of ice cream, is a great coping skill for most people’s first world problems. Happy viewing!

The Strong Cowgirl

The subject of the following article will remain anonymous for her own safety and sanity. This hardworking horse lover has been through hard times. Her family is a mess: her dad has rheumatoid arthritis which limits his movement rendering him incapable of taking care of her or her younger brother, and her mother is an undiagnosed bipolar-psychotic. Okay psychotic might be an exaggeration, but she is certainly bipolar. Both of them fight constantly. So this brave 17-year-old is left parenting her younger brother. She makes dinner, cleans dishes, pays for her own food and clothes, and on top of that she has to work at the barn in order to pay for her horse’s board. As far as boyfriend’s go, she has somehow managed to find the worst. From emotional manipulators, to disrespectful, immature little boys she has had the best intentions and the worst luck. It makes it harder for her to show her emotions and open her heart to others.

 

Drama is usually part of the horse-barn lifestyle and this girl’s life is no exception. She is a straightforward, honest person who doesn’t deal with other people’s crap, yet somehow she gets caught up in the most over-the-top situations you can imagine. When she fell in love with a beautiful palomino horse, the owner threatened to take it away from her on numerous occasions. After spending almost a month in the hospital due to a bone cyst in her lower leg, she came home to find that she had been replaced at work. Once she was finally given enough shifts to pay for the procedures her horse needed, she was told that she would no longer be paid for her work at the barn.

 

Being an emotional person myself, it is hard to see her go through all of this crap. Whether she’s grumpy and yelling or heartbroken, frustrated, and crying, I only wish I could do something to make it better.
I, however, have really high hopes for her future. I believe that if you start at the bottom you can only go up. She is a fantastic, hardworking student, a prizewinning, horse-riding, athlete, and a talented caring person. I proud to call her my friend.

Dresscode

A boy walks down the crowded Keene High hallway. He sees girls all around him. He sees short girls, tall girls, skinny girls, and curvy girls. Some have big butts, others have little ones. Some girls let their tatas hang out of their shirts and others keep the wrapped underneath inches of fabric. The boy ogles them all. It’s not his fault that he was raised in a generation where female bodies are simply sexual objects. Despite these other features, he is particularly attracted to…their shoulders. He can not help it; the smooth skin that curved into their backs drive him wild. Ah shoulders! Why are these girls allowed to walk around with their shoulders showing? It’s awfully distracting to the poor, hormone-crazed boy. Unfortunately for the school board and paranoid parents of the century, this is not how the teenage brain thinks. Those who enforce the no spaghetti strap rule convince themselves that this story is true when it is just silly. Even if a girl wears a burka, boys who sexualize girl’s bodies will simply undress them in their mind. If what a female student is wearing is such a concerning problem for male’s concentration, then we should be focusing on teaching boys to respect women for the mind and not their body.

These days you can’t turn on the television without seeing a clothing as showing up a girl’s skirt, or a show where a guy is talking about what a girl’s body looks. Derogatory words such a “hot”  and “smokin'” are now supposed to be received as compliments. Why does “sex sell”? Because we let it. We make sex sell. That is what the media is teaching children. Video games for 9 year old boys like Tomb Raider or GTA have overly sexual and glamorized women flouncing around or waiting to be saved.

The only way to undo the damage that social media and television have done on the boys of this generation is to re-educate men and boys entirely on the dynamic between men and women. If Parents taught their sons to respect women from the day they were born, the world would be a world of justice. If adults would stop assuming that girls are a distraction to boys and convincing themselves. The media should stop portraying women as sexual objects and instead demonstrate their many accomplishments.

In a perfect world boys would grow up learning about the great thoughts and accomplishments of women and there would be no need for girls to conceal their bodies. Is it really necessary to have such a strict dress code when boys are already being submitted to much worse images of women in their own homes? Boys and dress codes are not the problem. How we educate our boys is.

Varsity

The name of the subject in this article will remain anonymous for now because for some reason, I feel more comfortable being vague and mysterious.
This 6’ 7’’ Ariana Grande loving 18 year old boy is a rare breed. He is kinder than you would expect out of a varsity basket-ball player but, then again, a lot of things about him surprised me.

He always wakes up at five in the morning no matter what day of the week it is. On weekends he goes fishing. He isn’t the best at this sport, but it is the one thing that relaxes him. When he goes fishing he doesn’t have to think about his fear of heights, his plummeting grades, or his emotionally abusive basketball coach. He can just sit in his little rowboat and enjoy the silence.

For four long years he’s played basketball on the school’s team. He worked his way from a long legged, uncoordinated freshmen to a confident, ball dunking, varsity player. His friends are what keep him going. Without them, he would never have put up with his coach for this long. At least he knows what he never wants to grow up to be. Coach is insane. Coach throws tantrums, puts down the team, and belittles every single accomplishment.

Anxiety for this young man is a huge obstacle. He hates trying new things. He knows it should be fun and exciting, but he dreads the unexpected. He worries that he will fail in front of all of the people he’s trying to impress. In this aspect I can relate completely.

In all reality, he is a chill, generally nice guy, but he can’t see that. Everybody else sees the great in him. It’s almost hypocritical for me to write that, considering my similar situation, but I feel as if, being the judgmental person I am, I can see myself objectively and know for a fact that I have no assets. I wonder if that’s how he feels?

Peeling Onions

This article is about a boy at my school that shall remain anonymous for the purpose of my safety. Due to past experiences, I would not put physical or mental attacks past him. After all, he once stormed out of a room and threw his head against a wall because some other boy “stole” his crush. For a while, I considered him a friend, but recently I have found him more similar to a pet parrot that won’t stop talking. It’s quite possible I’d prefer the latter. I think perhaps a parrot might realize that it was not the most important thing in the room. I have never met a more self serving, ass kissing boy in my life.

Remember that kid in kindergarten that everyone hated? That’s him. Mrs. Sunshine or whatever, would say something like, “Alright class we are all going to eat apples for snack.” Then this kid goes, “Yeah, I love apples, but I think the Latin name is malum. Did you know that Newton’s favorite fruit was actually the pear? By the way Mrs. Sunshine, you’re my favorite teacher ever.” The class collectively rolls their eyes at the aspiring brown-noser.

Nowadays he masquerades behind a shield of self-righteousness and the entire oxford dictionary, but if you spend a day with him you can peel his layers off like an onion. Speaking of onions, he is also similar to this disgusting vegetable in that no matter how stupid it seems, you can’t help but cry when you’re around him and he often leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth. He will whine and moan for hours about how nobody loves him, but when you try to be kind, you are never good enough for him. He holds the worst qualities of a modern day “hipster” and the worst part is that he’s proud of it like a pirate and his gold. Unlike buried treasure, however, no matter how deep you’re digging, you never find anything but frustration and disappointment at the lack of human emotions and likable qualities in this husk of a person.

Harsh? Maybe, but I will say that I am just as harsh to myself. If you knew the kind of tears and rage a single sentence from his mouth can induce then you’d see how warranted this article is.

Ben

No matter what I will always love this little guy.

Fail

I don’t think there’s anything left I haven’t failed already.

 

I wrecked my grades starting sophomore year. I could easily have all A’s and B’s, but my level of motivation was slim. I completed homework, but never turned it in, I procrastinated until I had panic attacks, I ignored deadlines, and finally I stopped trying altogether. My mind told me, “Why try if you’ll never succeed anyway.” That’s when I shut off. Nothing mattered. Except for sleep of course…that was the most important part of my life: sleep and relaxation. Although it brought me little to no happiness, I spent my time rotting away, staring at the television.

 

I ruined my social relationships so quickly and easily that it was probably on purpose subconsciously. My mind said, “Why would you put in the effort to make friends and maintain relationships when nobody will ever put you first. No one can love you.” So I ignored calls, emails, and messages until the people that used to care didn’t bother trying anymore. When I was sad it was so much easier to act angry.

 

I sabotaged my health. It’s almost like I wanted to get sick. I refused to take medicine, I ignored the warning signs, and sometimes I was so sick of reality that I made myself sick just to escape. Sometimes I let myself be ill or even encouraged it just so somebody would notice. At least pity was better than nothingness. My irrational brain thought, “Maybe if you throw up enough, refuse to eat, faint enough times they’ll start caring.” The first time, I took thirty tylenol. I threw up for two days and told my mother that it must be the stomach bug. The next time it was 35 tylenol and 30 advil. In the back of my head, that second time, I wasn’t planning on it working. It didn’t. I threw up for a day and listened to my grandmother yell at me about how incredibly ungrateful I was. Yes, I get it: children are starving in Africa, but as selfish as it was, that didn’t matter to me. I would gladly give them everything I have to be happy. The third time I was desperate. I took all of my depression and OCD meds in addition to painkillers and homeopathic remedies. I didn’t necessarily want to die. I was afraid of that. I just wanted to sleep…for a really long time. Unfortunately for me, I got the opposite: chills and extreme shaking, heart palpitations and blurry vision. I could hardly walk. The next day, it was as if nothing happened. Nobody cared. Now I just felt stupider. I couldn’t even kill myself correctly.

The worst feeling is that I’ve failed my parents. While brother is a shining star, I am barely passing classes. I constantly pick fights with my parents. They having nothing to be proud of me for.

 

I don’t see a solution. I’ve thought of jumping threw my window countless times. I’ve literally researched sedatives and how to induce a coma. I’ve never told anyone. People have a tendency of drugging me and forcing me to talk to pretentious assholes whenever I decide to be honest.
I don’t think there’s anything left I haven’t failed already.

Who Am I

I don’t know what makes me me. I don’t particularly like me either. I am lazy. I am an extreme pessimist. I procrastinate with everything. I sabotage myself on purpose sometimes because I think, “Why bother? I’ll never succeed anyway.” I love writing, but I hate writing about myself; not because my life is particularly embarrassing, but because I don’t even like to think about myself.

 

People think I am funny and caring and helpful. Most people think I am bubbly and fun and confident. I am not. One of my better skills is faking my feelings. I can make people think that I’m crying because of a bad grade or my eyes are only red from allergies. I can convince you that I am not smiling because I’m tired, when really, I almost to ended everything last night. I can tell you I didn’t do my homework because I was lazy, when in reality I was rushed to the hospital after passing out after a panic attack. I am a liar because lying is just easier for everyone.

 

Most days I just try to forget who I am. If I can forget that I am chained down to my lump of a body and my prune of a brain, then maybe I will make a friend or tell a joke or walk with confidence.

 

I don’t like to be alone. I don’t even need to talk to a person to make me feel better I just need them to be in the same room with me. I make my brother sit and eat dinner with me every night, and I dread bedtime because then I will be alone again.

 

Frivolous things make me happy: shopping, nail polish, television. I also have an unhealthy tendency of eating my feelings.

 

My favorite thing to do is make other people happy. I know, humble, right? But really, it’s the only thing that makes me feel good about myself. I am a hypocrite. I tell my friends how to deal with their problems. I give them advice and even get angry with them for being so negative, when in actuality, internally, I am so much worse.

Fake It Till You Make It

It still irritates me when kids in the class continue to complain. However, I have experienced some great things. Being lifted up the wall first proved to myself that I could do it. I could do anything. I like the looks of surprise, awe and support I receive from my classmate. It feels nice that people believe in me. It’s funny they think I’m the brave one when, in my head, I am terrified and cowardly.

 

Then there was a boy who didn’t want to be hoisted up the wall. Everything he said was what I had been thinking in my head: “I don’t want to do this”, “This does not look safe”, “I can’t do this”. He was vocal and vulnerable with his fears. I felt bad for him, knowing how uncomfortable it must be. Eventually myself and the rest of the class “convinced him” to mount the wall. I reassured him in the same way I knew would coax me into participating, but in the end, it was his own decision. I was so proud of him. After he finished he complained as usual, but I could practically see him glowing. Whether or not he knew it, watching him be so honest and then eventually succeeding felt crazy good.

 

  I had felt all of the same things, however, I decided to reinvent myself. I pretended not to care. I pretended not to be afraid. I faked confidence, and it freaking worked! I have continued this strategy ever since. I may seem confident, social, and brave, but I assure you that it’s complete bullsh*t. It’s fun though. I can act like the kind of person I envy.

 

The stereotypes mentioned in my previous journal are really wearing off. I still wonder what I would have been in their heads. Then again, not everyone is as judgemental as I am.

 

Although I do still feel a little bit of segregation between two halves of the class, I am also happy about how close we have all grown. Personal stories started surfacing about terrible coaches and grumpy girlfriends. I find myself enjoying every silly, innuendo-ladened conversation. I look forward to every class, inside and out.

The Challenge

I am a very judgmental person. I may seem sweet and kind, but on the inside I am quite judgmental. It’s human nature! So when I first entered the Adventure Challenge classroom, I was terrified. My eyes saw people, but my brain took inventory: 3 rednecks, 3 jocks, 3 smart kids, 1 average girl, 1 shy girl, and 1 sporty girl. How could I relate? I didn’t like sports or fishing and I didn’t have a 4.05 average GPA. Where was I going to fit.  I was great at stereotyping other people, but not myself. It was bad at first. Every day I would find myself infuriated by the kids that refused to participate. Were they even aware that they signed up for this? Why would anyone complain about standing up? This was a PE credit after all! I found myself constantly being forced to volunteer just to make sure my teacher didn’t start hating our class. I went first for everything because nobody else could be bothered.

After what seemed like forever, I started to understand these people. The sporty ones didn’t want to exercise because they spent hours of practice at basketball every evening and  the smart ones were shy and didn’t want to be made fun of due to their good grades. They spent more time completing homework than learning how to be outgoing. The rednecks liked fishing because it gave them a sense of peace. At this point in time I stopped stereotyping and started to learn everyone’s names. Even though negativity and lack of motivation still snuck into some classes, I began to enjoy myself in Adventure Challenge.