Am I still a teenager caught in an adult's body? An update.

Every now and then I like to peruse old blog posts for inspiration, slash I enjoy a walk down memory lane every once and a while [except when memory lane involves mushy posts about your ex and then it's like whaaaaat, that's awkward].

The following post was originally written on December 2, 2009, during the era of my life I like to refer to as "the dark ages" AKA post-grad unemployment.

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Sometimes I find myself wondering if I am 22 or 15. Did I miss out on something significant in those formative years that has caused this regression? Here are some glaring signals that lead me to believe that I am an angsty teenager caught in an adult's body:

1. My tendency to obsess over celebrities and form severe crushes on them. For example: when I lived in L.A. in the summer of 2007, I spent many a day at my lowly intern desk concocting scenarios in my head that involved meeting and/or falling in love with the objects my infatuation. These scenarios included, but were not limited to, Patrick Dempsey, Orlando Bloom, and Michael Vartan. For latest celebrity love affair, see gorgeous picture below.


But hey, at least I'm not plastering pictures of him all over my walls and various other flat surfaces. Although, I have allowed for the occasional wallpaper on my computer...

2. While we're on the topic of Rob Pattinson: My complete and utter obsession with all things Twilight related. I was a latecomer to the book series, but once I sunk my teeth (no pun intended) into Twilight, I was finished with the first three books in three days. I impatiently awaited the arrival of Breaking Dawn, and a dear friend can attest that I took it in the car with me so that I was able to read it at stoplights and once even made her drive us somewhere in my car so that I could read. I got so wrapped up in the books that I began to relate things in my daily life to the trials and tribulations of the characters. Were these novels a source of literary excellence? Hell no. But where they entertaining as all get out? Hell yes! And of course, I wanted nothing more than to find a man as perfect as Edward Cullen. What's a little bite on the neck here and there? Things got worse with the debut of the first movie, which I saw five times in theatres. Was it the movie I actually liked, or the ethereal beauty of Rob Pattinson as Edward Cullen. Maybe both? At any rate, I can't stay away from magazines that have even the slightest mention of the Twilight series and I have started a personal vendetta against Kristen Stewart for both her portrayal of Bella and her supposed relationship with Rob. Sick.

3. I recently read every Gossip Girl novel. For those of you who don't keep up with the teen book scene, there are 13 books in the series. I read every.single.one.of.them. I don't know why I feel the need to justify my reading choices but I will do just that in the name of my pride. Before embarking on my 13-GG book rampage, I read two Pulitzer Prize winning novels. Therefore, I felt I was allowed some trashy reading. But who are we kidding? I would have read them anyway; my curiosity always gets the best of me. Like Twilight, these books will win no awards, but they are so full of chaos and scandal that I couldn't put them down. The lives of teenagers as portrayed by movies, TV, and books such as these is amazingly ridiculous and I refuse to believe that today's teens actually behave in such ways (though I'm probably just very naive). In GG's case, combine that ridiculousness with overwhelming amounts of money and you get a veritable freak show. Smoking and drinking from the time they were 15, putting $30,000 on daddy's credit card because you CAN, jetting off without telling parents...whoa. For approximately a week I lived vicariously through all these scenarios, even though I am well outside the target audience of readers. Oh wait...so maybe it's because of books like these that teens get the idea that this kind of behavior is kosher? Ok, cool.



4. I have stuffed animals on my bed. Oh and on some shelves. And there are tons more in the closet that I sometimes feel sorry for and feel as if I should display them somewhere. But wait a second, I'm too old for that. In my defense, three out of five of the animals on my bed are very old and have emotional significance. So...there.

(This is Mr. Bear. Holding to my theory, you can see that I am not very mature.)

Thankfully, I couldn't think of a number 5. I am thankful for this because if I had come up with one, I would have almost considered shipping myself off to a therapist for some psychoanalysis. So for now I will live with my four teen-like symptoms and hope that one day they will calm themselves down.

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So, am I still 22 26 going on 15?

 

...ehhh sort of?

 

Win: My love for R-Patz and all things Twilight has decreased significantly.  While I still think Rob is magnificently attractive, I question his personal hygiene and taste in women.

Lose: I still read YA novels. The Hunger Games, The Mortal Instruments...they're just too addictive. Don't worry, I still balance them out with more sophisticated titles.

Win: There are no longer five stuffed animals on my bed.

 

Lose: ...instead, there are two. The aforementioned Mr. Bear made the cut, as well as the Lamb Chop puppet I've had since I was 4. It's a good thing I have a boyfriend, otherwise the animals on the bed probably wouldn't be beneficial to my love life.

Verdict:

I may have graduated to 26 going on 17 or 18.

Hey, it keeps me young!

A vintage photo with an embarrassing story

I use the word "vintage" loosely.

This photo is circa 2008, so really not too old.

But I was a junior in college, a freshly minted 21 year old, way before I started this bloggy.

Caroline and I went to a date party for a rowdy gentleman's organization. 

The theme was fiesta [check out my Mexican dress].

It was held in a barn/bar in the middle of nowhere.

I made a spectacle of myself.

Like, giant spectacle.

I'll tell you the story [privately] if you really want the nitty gritty details.

You just have to promise not to judge me.

It was college, after all.

It should come as no surprise that I have a death grip on am embracing a dog in this picture. 

Please disregard the pink fedora [it was never seen again after that night] that has absolutely nothing to do with a Mexican fiesta.

Scenes from a high school journal AKA what the hell was wrong with me

Being forced to clean out your childhood room is a sure fire way to discover cringe-worthy items that make you question whether your teenage years were actually just a mild form of torture.

 Prime example: high school journals.

Your eyes do not deceive you. This freshman year journal does ineed have BSB on the cover. Holla!

Let me dazzle you with some excerpts from the life and times of a 14-16 year old Alex. These were shared with my Fab Four girls over a bottle of Moscato, and let me tell you, the Moscato was a necessary choice.

[Names have been changed to celebrity monikers to protect the innocent]

"I AM THE CLASS PRESIDENT!!! I BEAT THE POPULAR KIDS!!!"

"And when I stand near him, he stares at me. Maybe he thinks I'm pretty just like I think he's hot. Yeah, Matthew Morrison is so hot."

"Info on Matthew Morrison:..." [and I proceeded to list out every bit of information that I had stalkerishly obtained about him].

"Yesterday Maegan and I devised code names for Matthew Morrison and Michael Vartan: the marmoset and the polar bear, respectively." [don't lie, you know you had nicknames for guys in high school]

"Sooo yesterday I did something totally out of character for me. I cassually said hi to a guy I like. Oh my gosh." [OH MY GOD, REALLY???]

"Well, the marmoset spoke to me. Guess what he said?? 'EXCUSE ME.' AAAHHH!!" [don't worry, I know how pathetic this is]

"Marmoset stepped on my shoe on Monday." [shoot me now]

Maybe there's an entry in which I cut out a picture of the "polar bear" into the shape of a heart and taped it in my journal. Maybe.

"All of my friends are silly like me, but this is my less 'dirty' group." [this is incredibly ironic to me today, seeing as how I sometimes have the humor of a 14 year old boy]

"I can't stop thinking about him. Every thought I have is of Michael Vartan." [I crushed real hard, y'all]

"The Marmoset is now the Baboon. Someone said his nickname too loudly when he was close by."

"I've decided that I want to go to Yale and major in film studies." [HA!]

"Ugh, Nic Cage has been giving me the most masturbatory looks. I"m afraid he's gonna ask me out again. Geez." [yeah, I described looks as masturbatory. Points for me.]

"The lifeguard is really hot. He was squirting us with water guns. He's really hot. Ha. I said that once." [I was so eloquent]

And then there are many pages dedicated to the crush I had on Ronnie's now fiance [yep] and how irritated I was when it became obvious that he was totally in love with her. So in a round about way, I am reponsible for their engagement. We can't help but laugh at this 8 years later.

Actual journal page. This is pretty quality, as it both laments having an unintelligent Chemistry lab partner AND has a drawing of a squirrel. You wish you could have been my friend in high school.

 

So after perusing those little gems, please join me in a big ol' "WHAT THE HELL?!"

 

First of all, can we say boy crazy much?? But mine was a dangerous combination: boy crazy yet boy INEPT.

Don't worry, one of those celebrities up there [who also had an animal nickname] went on to be a boyfriend for a couple of years. So I guess I eventually did develop [novice] flirting skills.

 

Second, I cannot get over how incredibly immature I was. I know I was just a freshman/sophomore in high school, but man. What makes me laugh is that I thought I was so cool, sophisticated, and mature. But I'm pretty sure someone possessing those qualities would not excitedly write about a boy she had NEVER TALKED TO stepping on her shoe at school. Shit.

Third, thank GOD the friends I talk about/experience my embarrassing life with in these journals are still my best friends today. They loved me as a dork and they love me now [still a dork, let's be honest].

Finally, as horrifying as some of these finds were, I can't help but miss the SIMPLICITY of those times. Sure, I may have thought that having a huge crush on a guy who barely knew I existed was a big damn deal and would probably damage me for life. False. 15 year old Alex, there is much worse out there. I think we can all appreciate the carefree ways and lack of responsiblity those early years in high school brought.

What I have learned:
I'm still weird.
I still can't flirt to save my life, so thank goodness I don't have to.
I still give people nicknames.
I still stalkerishly obtain information about people if necessary.

High school journals, thanks for the laugh. And for showing me that in the end, I think I turned out just fine.