I'm An "Adult"

My mouth is full of the sickly-yellow taste of stamps, my fingers smarting from the sting of envelope paper cuts, and my homework in procrastinated stacks about me. Theres no doubt; its Graduation Season, and i've been plagued with a bad case of "Senior-itis" for several months now. Its like I've been carrying a time-sensitive bomb in my backpack for the last 12 years and the smaller the countdown-digits get, the faster I run to throw the bomb in a fridge or over the side of a bridge, not caring what grades or essay assignments are casualties in my path.

I'm sitting here, relatively alone in the library with summer sunshine pouring in, steaming the books so their spines give off the heady aroma of old books, the white noise of students chattering outside and the grumbling of a colicky baby. Somehow, though, I'm full of silence. Not silence: pondering. The eye in the storm amongst all the final-stressed students. For me though, and many of my classmates, it is my ultimate final: the final day of high school.

After 12 groaningly-long years of word problems out the wazoo, finger-cramping essays, and more time pulling all-nighters than sleeping as a whole....you'd think i'd break into an impromptu musical number a la HSM movies with a full team of back-up dancers and pyrotechnics. But instead, i'm at a standstill. A part of me, of course, is frothing at the mouth in relief and excitement. Another part of me is sitting quietly at a crossroads, or standing on the sheer edge of a cliff, knowing I can't go back and its time to take the leap of faith. And so, I ponder. A friend and I were talking about it earlier and agreed graduating from high school is rather like being a kite or balloon finally released into the air: wild, independent, but at the hands of the wind's whims and without anchor. Freedom has it's price. And balloons are easily popped.

Saying goodbye to my peers, people who've I've toiled side-by-side with for years, is rather like saying my goodbyes in preparation for my impending death, to put it morbidly. Teary eyes and last goodbyes and hugs. A LOT of hugs. Hugs from close friends. Hugs from not-so-close-friends. Hugs from people I know and people I've only waived to in passing. Hugs from total strangers I don't think I go to school with. Suddenly, everyone's your best friend. And everything, I mean EVERYTHING, becomes nostalgic. That sink in the bathroom that always sprays up so it looks like you wet your pants? The water fountain that burbles milky water and everyones afraid to drink? (I seems so far i've developed a deep emotional connection with the plumbing.) And that chalkboard that always screeches horribly, the cockroaches, that funny "science room smell" that is likely toxic to humans after extended exposure? Good times, good times.

As I am now 18 and, in the eyes of the law, an "adult", it feels rather like playing dress up. I've got the costume, I'm in character, I know my script; but on the inside I'm still that same little girl in her Phocohontas PJs, sitting at my bedroom window on a steamy summer night singing nonsensical songs in harmony with the cicadas for all the sleeping neighborhood to hear. Ahem, *was* sleeping neighborhood to hear.

Its a really strange feeling, for the first time in 12 years, to not know where i'll be next summer. I used to expect every year to be generally the same, only with progressively more difficult classes. Now? The skies the limit. I could be travelling the world: eating pizza in Italy, being an exotic hermit in Hawaii, speeding around Corfu, Greece on a vespa.  However, when you factor in a student's part time job earnings, my exotic locales are narrowed down to pitching a tent and roasting marshmallows in the Wallmart parking lot, living for a few days hidden away in the clothes racks of Khols surviving on trail mix, or spending a night camping out in the jungle gym of the nearest park, Katniss-style.

All in all, however, I learned a lot in High School. How to make a 7 ft. pinata globe, how to raise my grade from a C to an A in a week, how to stay awake all night, how to sound like I know what i'm writing about in an essay, that vocabulary = money, Benjamin Franklin was a pervy old creep, and that I never want to read Moby Dick again. Ever. As a shoutout to those in my life who got me this far i'd like to thank my parents, my friends, God, and his lesser known saints, Wikipedia and Google.

Let's Blow This Popsicle Stand,

Hannah the "Adult"

I Am a Fish and Why Winter is Humbug

I don't like Winter. There, I've gone and spit some humbug in your eggnog but it had to be said: I hate winter.

When I was a young, sticky hobbit it was an even tie between the sheer delight of presents and the moist, toe-curling horror of that snow that finds its way into the thought-impenetrable fortress of snow suit and woolen wear. Now we don't even have snow, just skeletal trees and naked fields and COLD. I mean, COME ON. Winter's only excuse for being a season is having snow. Without those postcard-perfect flakes of natural disaster dandruff its just the inedible cone without the ice cream, the bread minus Nutella, the hot water without the hot coco. Its a shameless sham of nature!

Lately I've felt much more like a Christmas hermit than a Christmas caroler. Or maybe a lone-wolf caroler who can't sing worth a sprig of mistletoe (which, did you know, is poisonous if ingested? Yup, I've gotta rain on all the parades.) My hours are spent building pockets of body heat with blankets in which to read, baking cookies and toffee, and (when i'm feeling really brave) entering the warzone that is last-minute Christmas shopping. Another little known holiday fact I might have made up: Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer wasn't born with that scarlet nose, he got it while wrestling over the last Polly Pockets Glam Set with an irate Aunt.

I'm seriously considering making a last-minute addition of one of those artificial sun lamps to my Christmas list. Right up until lunch time the watery-dregs of sunlight are trying their best only to be swallowed up by what I like to call THE BLACKNESS. Or Bob. We are so well acquainted now, after all. Its a little like being one of those needle-jawed fish with a bad overbite and glowing headgear in the depths of the ocean so far from the surface that they never see the light of day, blindly navigating grottoes of nibbling predators. Clearly I need a shot of Christmas cheer, straight into the vein. And to stop watching creepy Discovery Channel documentaries.

Christmas isn't all seasonal depression and money-mongering, of course. There is also the constant merri-go-round of sickness. But really, there are perks to the shiver-some months. For example, our Christmas tree. I'm not sure why but dragging oversized shrubbery into my living room every year brings me joy. Something about the nonsensical idea of trees in my house combined with the fairy-light fire hazzard sparks the inner pyromaniac and warms my heart. Christmas lights in and of themselves are pretty grand, too. Not the huge house displays of strobe-light rainbows that aren't safe for the epileptic-prone to see, no. I like the simple white lights looped around roof-edges, window-sills, and railings. Its like a hundred lightening bugs frozen in time.

So guzzle that eggnog, wear your "I'm at home, the neighbors can't see me" clothes in public under your winter coat, and remember the true reason-for-the-season: raw cookie dough. I mean Jesus's birthday. But cookie dough is important, too.

Merry Christmas,

Hannah

PUT. DOWN. THE. CAMERA.

The camera was a glorious, life-changing invention. It captured people and places and memories and has become as much an everyday part of life as breathing and tweeting. However with every great invention (and sci-fi movie) there is a dark side. Introducing: Camera Crimes.

1) Baby Pictures

It is a truth universally acknowledged that everyone loves an adorable baby picture. Don't even try to deny it, boys, you know those peachy little chipmunk cheeks and anime eyes melt your macho hearts like butter on a hot engine or rifle or...something else manly. And what parents wouldn't want to capture the overwhelming cuteness of their baby before it grows into a terrifying toddler, an emotionally distraught middle schooler, and worse *shudder* a teenager. However there is a fine line between too cute... and torture.

Exhibit A: Good Baby Photo

Exhibit B: Bad Baby Photo

(Do you not SEE this? Obviously the small child is being eaten by a care bear.) 

You see adorable semi-nude baby photography. I see cold, shivering, sticky hours spent forced to cuddle with a wicker basket. Just imagine how this kid is going to react when he gets older. "You did WHAT? You took nude pictures of me stuffed in a peppermint jar and posted them on the internet?! MOM!"

2) Instagram
 Ahhh, the fabulous social media website and facebook tool that allows you to take pictures of anything, and I mean anything, put it through a variety of filters for instant photoshop, and show it to everyone you know. It only crosses the line to ridiculous when you begin taking pictures of everything else and calling them art. Like dirty dishes, ketchup bottles, and boogers.

Exhibit A: Good Instagram

                                           

Exhibit B: Bad Instagram

Inanimate objects are only the gateway drug which, as everyone knows, leads directly to...

3) Selfies

Exibit A: Good Selfies

Note: If you are someone who occasionally posts pictures of themselves on various social media networks please don't be offended. There is a difference between a tasteful picture of yourself and...the below. Most likely, hopefully, you are the first kind. 

Exibit B: Bad Selfies

The "Just checking my Facebook and accidentally took a picture..."

The "Oh! Coincidentally high enough to show cleavage!"

The "I turned it sideways so its totally justified!"

The "Peek-A-Boo Abs"

And you aren't fooling anyone with your "Unfiltered! <3 nbsp="nbsp" span="span">nonsense  If its unfiltered than why are your eyes violet and the edges of your face blurry? These kinds of pictures induce a want in the general public not to shoot people with cameras but just flat-out SHOOT people. Also, adding song lyrics does not make it ok. 

It is not flattering. It is not appealing. It is not sexy. Just say NO to duck lips. 

*Note: Not ALL girls*

Ladies and Gentleman, think before you click and post. Your future self will thank you.

Off to instagram my teddygrams,

_Hannah

P.S. Here's a nice serving of self-deprecation for anyone feeling offended (or convicted) after this blog post:

Quack, quack.