If somebody would have asked me a month ago to start a blog, I would have gone into a minor temper tantrum: yelling no, throwing myself onto the floor and flailing my arms and legs until they say, "Ok, I'm sorry, it was just a question." and walk away with a facial expression that says, "I know I look like I just got hit in the face by a squirrel but really that's not what happened: I just witnessed a 16 year old throwing a fit like she was a 2 year old at McDonalds whose mom said she couldn't have the toy because it's been recalled for lead based paint." But between fourth (Honors English with Ms. Locey) and fifth (Algebra II with Mr. Wilber) period everyday two of my top 10 favorite people in the entire world, Taylor and Jillian (here on out known as JayJay the Jet Plane!!!!!!) are always talking about their blogs. And because I felt so out of the loop all the time I decided there was no harm in creating a blog. So here it goes.
My life is the basic teenage soap opera that everyone experiences...times 10. According to JayJay the Jet Plane and Ashli the Red Headed Wonder, I am what they call a "social whore". Apparently a social butterfly is one of those people that talk to everybody and talks to anybody that sits next to them in Biology class or happens to sit across from them at the lunch room table. A social whore is one of those people that talks to EVERYBODY and talks to anybody, whether they are in front of them in line at Starbucks, or passing them in the hallway. So the accusation of being a social whore can't be farther from the truth. True, I will talk to people at school and make friends with them because I have to go there for the next two and a half years, one might as well enjoy the company of her fellow prisoners, but I am absolutly mortified of people I don't know outside of school. Ask my mom. My mom will be at Forever 21 trying on some shirts and say something like "Damn it, this shirt is too small. Evelyn, would you please go ask the attendant lady to get me a size bigger." I'll say "Sure mom, no problamo," but I'll think, "There is no way I'm going to go talk to her. Do you see her face right now?? Sure, she's smiling but deep down inside she's thinking 'that bitch better not ask me to get her mom a bigger shirt size.' You know, I'll just go get it myself." I'll return with the shirt 20 minutes later in addition to 15 I want to try on (I have ADD, so I'm attracted to anything that looks pretty like a unicorn attracted to rainbow flavored chocolate, but more about that in a minute). Anyway!!! The point is I'm not a social whore (put that in your juice box and suck it through a whimpy straw). Back to the initial subject, because I won't dare interrupt people when they are talking to me (it's one of my biggest pet peeves when I'm speaking and some one interrupts with something they think is more important, which, in most cases is not, but then who am I to deem something important or unimportant?), many people nominate me to listen to all their problems. "She doesn't like her because she slept with her boyfriend, when in reality she didn't but the boyfriend did sleep with the girlfriend's sister while the sister was in a relationship with another girl and now the girlfriend's sister's girlfriend's heart is broken so now her brother wants to beat up his sister's girlfriend but can't hit a girl so he cuts himself because he should have been there to protect his sister." Oh, yes, I hear it all. And I want so badly to clarify and tell them something someone else told me but that would be violating their trust in me with keeping a secret. So let's rephrase: My life isn't like a teenage soap opera, my life is like watching a teenage soap opera. It's like my own personal Degrassi playing out right in front of me.
About a month ago on a Wednesday (I remember because it was a late start like we have every week on Wednesday), I was sitting at the table eating a bowl of Captain Crunch when my dad comes downstairs with a peice of paper and hands it to me. Across the top it says "ADD/ADHD Questionaire". So I asked my dad "What is this?!?!?!?!" And he says, very nonchalantly, "I want you to fill this out and give it back to me before you go to school so that way I can take it to the family psychiatrist to see if you have ADD." Before he even finishes his sentence, I was already irritated at him, "WHY?!?!?!" "Because you're random and compulsive." So unhappy and reluctantly I filled it out. When I visited the shrink and she examined to paper like a monkey examines another monkey's head for tasty bugs to devour, she looked me directly in the eye and said, "Well Evelyn, you definitely have ADD, but it's a very complex and rare form of ADD, I'm going to have you go see our specialist." When she said that my irritation from that morning resurfaced. I'm not some animal that needs to go see the specialist to see what was wrong with her. I function just fine. The nerve of some people! But whatever, she thinks I have ADD, I think she's certifiably insane, we all have our opinions. I'm beginning to accept it now, but I still have yet to see a "specialist".
I'm going to leave now, but you'll hear from me again. I promise. Love ya <3
