Do A Little Dance, Make A Little Love....Well Basically Get Down Tonight

            "Eyes closed" my friend Sarah commands. I obey, and I feel her masterfully dusting eyeshadow over every crevice of my eyelid. "Now look straight", I do as she says, and I feel the mascara wand making my eyelashes thicker, darker, and longer. The eyeliner is applied to come to a winged point at the sides of my face. Sparkles must go everywhere. Makeup done, time for hair. I sit in front of Michelle so she can take my hopelessly straight hair and turn it into a mass of curls. Each fragile strand of pin-like hair transforms into a bouncy brown ringlet. All I need now is my dress. Black, tight, spandex, with a stripe of silver and black rhinestones going down the center. Paired with giant silver hoops. Perfect.

             We pull up to the school, already booming with people, yet they're still filing in by the dozen. Everything is big, flashy, and most importantly: sparkly. This can only mean one thing: it's the annual disco dance. Girls in go-go boots, guys in white bell bottoms. Anything shiny and spandex is acceptable attire. Sounds of the 70's are heard from the gym. As we get closer, the music becomes more intolerable, and the lights dim until all that can be seen is the light from the disco ball and the dancing figures from music videos of a very dark time in our musical past: disco. Plenty of Michael Jackson and Abba to go around. 

             Couples are scattered about the dance floor - most of which either grinding or making out. Groups of single guys looking for a group of single girls to entertain themselves. Friends drifting from group to group, swaying along with the words of "Dancing Queen". Everyone points at one another: "you can dance, YOU can jive, having the time of your life!" High schoolers high on life (and some just plain high), yes, these are the treasured occasions of high school.
             Girls: let's not lie though. The best part of disco, is going back to a friend's house, taking off your shoes - and if you saw my shoes, you'd understand why I screamed "SWEET SALVATION!" - eating pizza and cookies to your heart's content, and recounting the events of the night past.

Beauty, Grace, and Elegance

            The stage is dark. Conversation is buzzing around the auditorium under the dim lights. The lights flash, then go out completely. The back light of the stage shines a bright red and the silhouette of a dancer is seen. The whispers of the crowd are hushed and all is silent. The arms of the dancer are raised and one can see the graceful way she holds her stance: toes pointed, fingers relaxed and set apart from one another.
            The music explodes and the dancer bursts in to action. Her dark silhouette's body is moving in every which way. Jumping at great heights. Spinning....one....two...three...four....five times to land perfectly and go into the next move. The timing between the movements and the music is uncanny, and the emotion packed into the dance is palpable. Other dancers enter and new lights brighten their faces. Each move is so elegant and perfect, they make it look as if it's nothing.
             Dance is one thing I will have endless respect for those who are able to do it and do it well. I wish I had been able to get into it as a child (and actually have been good at it). It's a beautiful art that has a certain emotion to it that can't really be displayed with many other kinds of music or design. You can always tell if a girl is a dancer or not too just in the way she holds herself in everyday life. You can easily spot a dancer from a crowd of girls just on the way she (or he of course!) somehow manages to glide instead of clumsily shifting from one foot to the other.
              If you were wondering, this post is not completely random; I just got back from seeing a performance by my school's dance group. It was all very beautiful and extremely impressive. The coordination, the hours of practice, the blood, sweat, and tears that must go into a show of such talent, I can't even imagine. Each dance gives off such emotion, you can see it in the faces of the performers with every point of their toes and each backbreaking curve of their spines. I could never do what they do, and for that they have my undying respect.

Skin And Bones

          One of the heaviest burden's to bare as a girl....our weight (no pun intended). Being skinny is a common obsession shared by most teenage girls around the world. Having toned thighs, a trim waist. Instead of being a step towards the future, each step is another calorie burned. Instead of food being a blessing, it's a vicious enemy that should be consumed as infrequently as possible. The idea of looking perfect in your new dress makes a girl stick up her nose to cake.
          Today in U.S. history class, we watched a documentary on World War II. We all know the stories of concentration/death camps. The inhumane and vast cruelty forced upon Jews of the time. Millions slaughtered. Gas chambers. Worked to death. Fatal medical testing. We've heard it all before. It's been studied for months in different social studies classes throughout my years as a student. However, I saw something in this documentary that I had never seen before. More of the untold story unfolded before my eyes. Images that stung my eyes with tears.
           Children orphaned and thrown onto the streets at ages as young as four years old. Not only were these children cold, homeless, and living off of what they could collect begging...they were starving. Not in the "I haven't eaten for a week way", more like "I've lived off of crumbs for a year" way. These kids legs looked thinner than my pencil; it made me wonder why they weren't crushed beneath the weight of their bodies. The Germans were so proud of their work that they videotaped it all. Thinking they'd look back on these images and feel that they brought honor upon their country.
           With these images burned into my brain, never will I look at my legs with shame again. Never will I deny a meal because I want to fit into a smaller pair of jeans. When I feel my soft waistline, I will not feel spite towards Victoria Secret models. I will eat my bread with a smile on my face, and with each bite, my thoughts will not be on how many calories I'm putting into my mouth. It will be on how lucky I am to live in a world where I can believe what I wish to and still be provided with such incredible luxuries.
           Next time you feel the need to be skin and bones, think about what skin and bones means in the literal sense of the words. Think about what it meant to the children who died in the Holocaust of starvation. Pick up a piece of bread and with think to yourself that each bite is going towards one of the perished kids that were starved so cruelly. You will never feel guilty for having that extra slice of bread ever again.

Reading Rainbow All The Way Across The Sky!!!

            Average American Worker: "Wow was that a long day at work Why does my boss have to be so demanding and my clients so whiny. Do they realize I have a life too? I see my comfy recliner through the window as I pull up the driveway in my car. The garage door is closed, now where are those keys buried? Ahh there it is, into the lock it goes. Just steps away from sweet salvation. *drops into the recliner* ahhh. Now time to pass the evening with some good old fashioned, mindless, American television!" Wait, wait, wait, back this up! Pick up that remote turn that glowing box off, throw the flipper out the window, put a book into that man's hands, and roll it! "Now to curl up in my comfy seat and pass the evening by losing myself in an entirely different universe created within the pages of a good book." Thank you, that's better.
            How sad America has become. A country in which reading has really become almost obsolete for most teenagers. Apart from school, extra curricular activities, and studying text books, reading for fun is not on the list of top priorities of how to spend that rare free time. An exhausted high school student would rather lay like broccoli in front of a glowing box playing "Jersey Shore" reruns. And while "Jersey Shore" is quite the complex alternative reality and takes some serious mental power to comprehend; I happen to think it would be a much better choice to ignore the TV, flip open a good book, and lose yourself in Robert Landon's rigid excitement in The Da Vinci Code, feel Noah and Allie's pure love in The Notebook (I know the movie's good, but give the book a try!), sink your teeth into a halfway decent vampire book (I know, punny), anything! 
            When any of my friends tell me that they hate reading, I just laugh in their face and say "of course you don't. You love reading, you just haven't found any good books yet, trust me." It takes one good book. Just one to get convert a "Jersey Shore" addict to one who just lives to devour books. For me it was Twilight when I was twelve (as embarrassing as that may be now). After that all I wanted to do was read anything I could get my hands on. My shelves full of picture books from my youth were constantly being replaced with increasingly mature novels, until my parents invested in the e-reading industry and bought my sisters and I Kindles.
             The influential power a book may have over me is far more intense than any half hour sitcom could ever possibly hope to obtain. Heathcliff and Catherine's selfish love. Harry's destiny to save the wizarding community. Even Edward, Bella, and Jacob's supernatural love triangle. None of it can be reproduced through a glass screen. Put down the remote and try the pages that authors poured their heart and soul upon. Trust me, you won't be disappointed.

The Churn of the Mixer Goes Round and Round

            I hastily take out the mixer from its hiding spot under the counter. Ingredients are gathered from all over the kitchen. Plop, in go the sticks of butter. The sugar falls in an elegant swish. I'm feeling calmer already. The concoction is beat together into a decadent looking crystal paste. Crack with the eggs and splash with the vanilla. Time to count the cups of flour. One, two, three, and when the mixer is clicked on a white cloud is thrown out of the bowl. The problems of my day are being beat up along with the cookie dough. All that's left is the chocolate chips, they fall out of the bag with a little plink from each morsel. Half of what's left in the bag? Nah, let's do a little more. Maybe a little more. Ehh just dump the whole bag in there. Who really needs measurements.
            The dough: possibly the best part of the cookie making process, with a tall glass of cold milk (and I even hate milk), can cure just about anything. The dough is formed into little balls, soon to be morphed into misshapen cookies. They go into the oven, I watch as stress from the day melts along with the chocolate chips. The little balls become flat, and then begin to rise into their puffy forms. Then they're done, I clumsily pull them from the oven. Too hot to eat, but who cares? I made them start to finish. I take a breath of relief. I feel better.
            Baking. It can be messy and a pain. It takes time and effort. It's seen as silly when you can just go to the store and pick out any kind of cookie you want without any work put into it. Yet somehow, it's one of the most therapeutic things I can think of. When I'm throwing ingredients together and creating something for others to enjoy, I feel like I'm in control. I'm doing something from scratch that will be appreciated by all around.
            After a day when I feel like I have no real power or control over anything that's going on; that first bite into the cookie that was made according to my standards, my preferences, and my time, nothing can make me feel quite as good.

Guilty Pleasures

            Eww, you like Justin Bieber? Lady Gaga? Taylor Swift? Gross. I like music no one else knows that shows that I have a super creative personality. I'm sorry, but I'm not one of those people. While some of my music is really weird stuff mostly no one has heard of (most of which I get from my sister), and I'm hardly the person to like T-Swift music, and I would love to say that I hate her...I just can't! I think everyone  has that one artist, band, TV show, or movie that they know that they probably shouldn't like, or that they feel embarrassed for enjoying, and Taylor Swift is mine.
           Taylor Swift is one of those artists who's beat down upon a lot for not being a good singer live. Writing all of her songs about passed boyfriends. Being a boring, country-impersonating, pop singer. Well I'm sorry to all of the extremely deep and talented artists out there...but I love Taylor Swift. The two things I love most about her music is 1. she writes it herself (unlike most artists in today's world), and that most of her songs tell absolutely  adorable stories.
            At first I tried to hate her. The first song I heard by her was "You Belong With Me" and I hated it because the music video made out the marching band to be the supreme geeks. But then I couldn't get the song out of my head, and eventually I found myself singing it all the time. Then the song "Love Story" put the question of hating her to rest. Adorable story lines. Very fun to sing along to songs. What girl could really hate her?
            My sister agrees with me on this prospect. She has possibly the most unique sense in music of anyone I know. But among some of her most played songs of all time lies "Alejandro" by Lady Gaga. She'll always say she wishes she didn't love Lady Gaga, but she just does. Lady Gaga is her guilty pleasure artist, and Taylor Swift is mine.
             My message: don't be ashamed of anything you're interested in. Sing out loud the lines you love. Whether it's "Ra ra ah ah ah, ro ma ro ma ma, ga ga ooh la la, want your bad romance", "Baby baby baby ooooh, like baby baby baby ooooh", or even "Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone, I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess, it's a love story baby just say yes." Love what you want and don't worry about whether or not it's cool to love it.

The Sun Goes Down and Inspiration Goes Up

          Ahh spring is here. It's getting lighter earlier and dark later. Daytime is lengthening while night is swiftly shrinking. Soon to come is an endless streak of days filled with an unflinching sun without a cloud in the sky. Most everyone I know is just incapable of waiting for the season change. Me? No WAY! Don't get me wrong, I enjoy warm weather (the cold is beginning to become a bit monotonous). The thought of not being forced to go to seven hours of school each day is also tantalizing. However, the downfall for me is the dwindling hours of nighttime.
         I function best at night. I've felt this way for years now. During the day I feel the pressures of school and the future. I feel like if I'm not doing homework or studying, that I should be working out or at least trying to find something productive to do. But, night is my savior. When the sun goes down, pressures are off and I feel like I can just take a deep breath and relax. However, that's the opposite of what I end up doing. I'm a night owl, I like to stay up late. I'm more productive at night. If I attempt something creative or interesting during the day, it just never seems to work out. With night comes inspiration.
         Really, the fact that I work best at night is quite the curse. I'm one of those people who when they start a project, they must finish it before taking a break and finishing later. So I start projects late at night and I have to finish it before I go to bed...meaning I end up staying up all night. This is why I love the days of winter. The sun goes down at 4:30 P.M. and I have seven hours of inspired time before it starts getting late. A disclaimer: I am not "goth" or "emo" or whatever other label you would like to tack on to me for loving night time. It just so happens to be the time that I feel most comfortable, productive, and inspired.
         Darkness takes over and my mind is cleared. Pressures of daytime are gone. I no longer feel the need to look and act perfect. Night is my time. My time to be creative. Do things that mean something to me. If I'm the only one who feels this way so be it. Summer is just sure to bring long days and short nights. You can decide what that means to you.