It's interesting how differently each persons' mind thinks.
I just Googled exactly how many thoughts a person has a day, to give you the no diggity truth-underlying truth behind the truth and...
Nah, I just made that up that explanation.
I just wanted the right number.
But since each mind thinks differently, I got three different answers.
Some people say that a mind thinks of 60,000 different thoughts a day. Others disagree because according to Google and random strangers on the internet (who are most most-likely creepers, stalkers, and either overly-eccentric freaks or affected weirdos), a person thinks of 50,000 thoughts a day, although some say a person thinks 15,000 thoughts per day. Obviously we don't remember most of them but we remember a few. The ones that stand out.
Me, That Girl for instance. I'm not one to stand out. You see me in your English Honors class, or maybe P.E., or possibly in the hallways walking past you once in a while on your way to 5th period Drama. Your thoughts go to:
Damn she's really skinny. She's seriously in need of some KFC, BK, and McD!
Though I only hear you tell me, "Yo beezy! Nice jeans!"
Curse my skinny ass!
Oh wait, it seems as if I'm already cursed.
UNcurse my skinny ass!
But don't worry, I know what your mind is thinking of. In Will Smith's words (from the crackalackin' show known only as The Fresh Prince of Belair):
Mama knows; go on child, mama knows.
Anyway. I just got back from LA for a funeral and I must say that it was the most depressing trip I've ever taken. And that's only half because of the funeral. On the positive side of things: I almost rode in a limo, I kind of stayed at the Hilton for one night, and I'm the tannest I've been in 2 or 3 summers (although I have the strangest foot tan from my sandals).
Sounds like a weird trip? You know it G[oofy].
Actually, I had the strongest urge (no not to boogie the savanna nights away) to blog during the whole trip, but unfortunate fortune made it so that I was equipped with a sole cell phone and my brother's Blackberry to blast 90's alternative pop-punk away, blocking the sound of the disharmonious conjunction of adults bickering.
So, to break it down for you (the trip that is; I'm not about to start break dancin'), I'm just gonna list all the cynical notes that I took on my broken-screen cell phone from Verizon Wireless notepad on the car trip to, from, and in LA.
Basically, these were my at-the-precise-moment-notes (with a couple words added in such as "And," "The" and other further explanations, as well as conjunctions to connect my batshit crazy thoughts):
Day 1 [Going to Bakersfield to make a "half-way rest stop" as determined by the Mother, although Bakersfield happened to be 50 miles off the normal route to LA. This caused tension, arguments, and yelling in the car. A thermos was thrown. Meds were previously taken. Ranting started...and continued...
and continued. And this note started.]
I am starting to think way too much.
I am starting to think the shit out of myself. Non-literally.
That Girl, don't overthink it by saying it too many times. Leave it alone. Leave it be. Be like a bee and buzz away from that topic. Don't stay on this topic. Change the topic. No stop. Non-stop? No. "No, stop," is what the previously stated was meant to state. Wait, what was I thinking of?
Oh man, this must be what repetitive thinking feels like.
I'm repetitively thinking too much about thinking too much and thinking I'm thinking too much about thinking too much. Shit, I'm running out of room in this notepad note. I'm gonna have to start a new note. Damn.
Still Day 1 [At Bakerfield hotel. It's surprisingly nice. Though the room is a bit cheap looking, it comes with the standard ConAir hairdryer slightly too loud for comfort and a T.V. with the cable channels known only to the surrounding residents of the resident, natch. Before telling you this note, lemme back you with some information about how I got to thinking the topic I wrote about in this note. I was flipping channels at about 1 AM because I couldn't seem to fall asleep, and of course I ended up watching George Lopez and Made on MTV. I really like these shows actually. Both cheesy with morals, but that's alright.]
I've figured something out. You know that girl (HAH, that's a pun. Get it? That Girl comparing herself to "that girl"? Feel free to bow down to the master of plays on words. You may call me Master Play On Words. Or for short: Master POW. That's hella cool dude. Master POW? That's when you know you're ballin'.
Wow...big hello to sleep deprivation. Sorry about that.) who is always agreeing yes to whatever her popular friends say? I call her the "Yes" Girl, although, you could easily call her That Girl. Well, I have found the reason why I always agree with what my so called "popular friends" say. It's not that I'm afraid of rejection. I just don't give a shit about what they think of me, and I don't give much of a shit about them either with their bitchy ways and whatnot. I don't really care if they think that I'm the "Yes" Girl, and I don't think that a person who talks down to other people their classify as "uncool" deserves my honest opinions on most things. Sure, sometimes if I'm bored or feel up to it I give them a cutty response to their current topic, just to justify my being in the "cool" crowd. I give just enough to be "cool" but not enough that I have to try. I don't really want to be popular, but I don't want to be against the "popular" people. SO, I might as well take their side. It's easier this way. It's true when they say that it doesn't take much to be popular.
This sounds stupid, but I'm gonna say it anyway...I guess that I feel secure enough in myself to-instead of put down these people who I don't care about-agree with people who obviously have problems with self-esteem (i.e. the putting down people to make themselves feel better) that way I can make them feel more secure in their choices and overall self.
Then again, it's too late in the morning for me to now be held responsible for things I say.
Day 2/3 [Days at the actual funeral, and in LA.
I want to type more about my LA trip and the most awkward meeting of my so called "popular friends" at the mall downtown (Who did not invite me to come with them, but hugged me when I saw them and smiled like they were genuinely glad to see me. I was looking at bras by myself in Victoria's Secret. I didn't invite anyone for the reason of me always doing my bra shopping solo. Why do your friends need to know if you can't fill out a 34A pushup?) when I came back to the city, but it's getting late. I'll have to tie up all the loose ends of my posts I talked about this time, as well as the Stella story later cuz I'm feeling super sleepy. This is my last note from LA for this post.]
I just met my grandma's deceased brother's son's daughter who happens to be my age, but looks like my brother's age...plus 5 years. My brother is 21. I just turned 15. She just turned 15. Do you see how this would be awkward for me?
She was a little bit on the heavy side, yet not at all what you would call fat. Her legs were a little thick, but they were shaped. She was extremely tan and had the kind of body that guys look at on Facebook and leave comments like: "Sexay ;)" and "Damn mami, you got it going on!".
The other day my mom told me that while she was driving down our block to pick me up, so I wouldn't have to walk up the big hill our house is on, she looked for the skinnest girl on the street. She said that when she saw me, she was thinking that it probably wasn't her daughter because this girl looks like a stick. Go me.
My mom also told me that the big, tan girl at the funeral must eat a lot because "You have to eat a lot of food to be that big." In my opinion, she didn't look fat at all. I wouldn't call her big; I would call her normal. She seriously just looked healthy and that she had some meat on her bones. In a good way. I'd trade my body for hers in a Kellogg's Snap, Crackle, and Pop.
[I just added the above, from the top of my head. I'll tell her what I noted down in the notes on my phone now.]
Her body was slammin'! Okay, well maybe off the backboard-around-the-rimin' to some people. She can wear those sexy black stilletos with the thick heels and look great (though she almost toppled over once) unlike me who looks like I'm deliberatively trying to look taller and that the shoes are too much considering my overall size. If I ever wore stilletos, that is. What I would do to just look sexy in a dress and not "cute"...
I would like so much to quote the book How I Spent My Last Night on Earth right now, but I can't seem to find where I put the book. I read the whole thing during my LA trip and dumped it somewhere in my house after. Probably under a shoe. Maybe a cantaloupe? Bittermelon? Who knows. What I remember from that book is that the main character says somewhere in the book (Though the book had way too many stereotypes about cliques-the author talks about guys worshiping a new carburetor in a car, jocks tossing a football, and burn-outs doing drugs right in front of school? I don't think so. What car? We can't drive until 16 and by then you get the junkiest car from your parents that nobody wants to ride in, jocks don't have a football to toss around-everyone's happy enough to find a tennis ball in the halls to throw at eachother when the teacher comes to class late, rambling about something of no use, and even burn-outs are smart enough to be doing their stuff behind the school. ) somewhere in the book Allegra says that un-mating walruses (I think it was either walruses or seals...walrusii?) were jumping off a cliff. The scientists were puzzled, baffled, and, not bamboozled, but confused. They were calling it Lovers' Leap. Allegra says that it was obvious why. They were non-mating after all.
Humans have a different way of being without a mate.
It's not called Lovers' Leap.
It's called Ben&Jerry's.
-That Girl, merde foutue, non bonne!
Don't Babelfish that one, kids.
That's right, keep giving sad-sap girls like me false pretense with your upbeat melodies Evan and Jaron!