I'm Going To Put This Flat Out...

...People who can't take the truth drive me insane. As you may have gathered, this is quite a problem in my life. Every day, it seems that I manage to accidentally make someone angry at me because I didn't beat around the bush. High school, what do you have against me? Why is there so much drama? Then I get home, and I can say whatever I want, be who I've grown up to be. Having been raised with three brothers, the person I am ignores the bush. I plow the bush. Call me the bush plower. At home, my brothers will shrug any statement off and tell me where I screw up.

I like to think that when this happens, I can take what I dish out. I fancy that when someone tells me that I'm horrible at something or that I'm wrong, that I absorb it and move on with life, that the person who told me doesn't walk away just a tad bit peeved off because they're soaked in drama from my outburst. In all honesty, I don't think this happens; I am pretty sure that I get defensive. But hey, at least I realize that, right? Right? At least people don't walk away from me covered in yogurt. What did you say? It sounds like there's a story behind that? Well, only because you brought it up will I tell you.

Today I was at lunch, and someone, we'll call her Jane, said that she had to tell me something. Jane paused, and said that she would tell me later because "Lily" was present, and Lily can't keep a secret. Due to my polite-ness level being zero, I told Jane that she was being a hypocrite. Baffled, Jane asked what I meant. As I am, I told her that she couldn't keep a secret. Small thing, huge reaction. I ended up with yogurt all over my face. And hair. And sweater. Oh Jane, dear dear Jane. Excuse me, but I thought that you were over the age of five. I'm sorry that I was under the incorrect impression. Granted, it's probably my own fault. I didn't frolic around the bush. No, because I, my dear friends, am the bush plower.

Bush Plower. I think I'll make this my Indian name. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not saying that it was socially acceptable to criticize Jane. All I'm saying is that it should be. People should stop being insecure and just try to improve themselves. End of story. Think of how simple life would be if everyone knew everything about everyone. No hiding, no secrets, no lies. I guess that I will soon have to come to the realization that life, sadly, is not this way. It never will be. Life can not change just for me. However, I can change for life.

Will I?

Probably not. Because I am me, and life needs to get over it. Anyone seen that bush I'm supposed to be avoiding?

Garden Gnomes

Some of you may have thought that the (alliteration!) garden gnome on the right side of my blog was cute, may even funny. I'll bet what you least expected is that it was a sign of my seeking for world domination. All I'm saying is that I may or may not be in alliance with garden gnomes world wide, and I've decided to warn my loved ones. Here is your only chance for survival.

The author, Chuck Sambuchino, has been trying to thwart our operation for years. He reveals our plans in the book summary.

Move over zombies and adolescent vampires.

There’s a new threat in town—and it’s only twelve inches tall. How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack is the only comprehensive survival guide that will help you prevent, prepare for, and ward off an imminent home invasion by the common garden gnome. Once thought of as harmless yard decorations, evidence is mounting that these smiling lawn statues are poised and ready to wreck havoc. The danger is real. And it’s here.
Class 1 gnome-slayer and gnome defense expert Chuck Sambuchino has developed a proven system—Assess, Protect, Defend, Apply—for safeguarding property, possessions, and loved ones. Strategies include step-by-step instructions for gnome-proofing the average dwelling, recognizing and interpreting the signs of a gathering hoard, and—in the event that a secured perimeter isbreached—confronting and combating the attackers at close range.

You've been warned, prepare.

P.S. This post is a joke, I am not teamed up with evil garden gnomes. Please do not send the FBI after me.

P.P.S. I will not comment on my relations with lawn flamingos.

Reflective Essay

Yes, I know that I haven't written for over a month. Deal with it. I decided I'd post the reflective essay that I had to write for English so you guys could have a good laugh. The assignment was to write about an object that has some sort of significance in our life. I'm aware how super cheesy it is, feel free to make fun of it. Oh yes, I also still need a title, so if you have any great ideas, let me know.

My frustrated body slams into the huge front door, forgetting that it's usually locked. I sigh as I head to the garage door, animatedly punching in the code. "2-7-5-9". My finger slips as it pushes the 6 instead of the 9. Even something this small is enough to upset me today. The 30-second journey seems like an eternity, and then all entrances are finally in hindsight. "Hello?" Nobody home. Again. My feet loudly pound the wooden floor, even though I know no one can hear them. Eventually my hand grasps the smooth metal handle, and my eyes begin frantically searching for the familiar, large, silver bag. My treasure is found, and I let my muscles go limp as I sink into the comforting couch.

A chain of the bits of the rich chocolate begin to enter my mouth, always hungry for more, yet savoring each taste. The disappointments of the day begin to settle in as the tears stream down. I realize how trivial my worries are, but they still hurt, if only to me. My cell phone broke. One chocolate chip. That C minus on my paper in history. Two chocolate chips. She's mad at me for no apparent reason. Three chocolate chips. He's not talking to me. An overflowing handful of chocolate chips.

I grudgingly realize that I should feel lucky to have had any of these things in the first place, but I shun reasonable thinking, cuddling up next to my pity party. The chocolate chips slowly pry away my insignificant sorrow, but it's one certain memory that pushes it far, far away.

The day wasn't unlike today, all around dreadful. Today I had resorted to my room, the flannel blanket soft against my skin. My pillow was wet, which made me even more angry, because this does not happen often. I am not weak; I can hold my own. When this occasionally fails, it just makes me more upset. The silver bag was acting as my teddy bear, never-failing. I was past the worst part, recovering, the bag noticeably lighter. There's a knock on my bedroom door, and I let them know that they are not wanted. It seems that I've forgotten that I have a stubborn family, because I'm almost surprised when there's a body next to me. I make my best attempt to ignore it, but it's virtually impossible when your face is buried into their chest. He doesn't speak for a while, just holds me on his lap and rocks me back and forth. He knows what's wrong and doesn't bother asking. I am the first one to break the silence. "Ute, it isn't fair." My sobs have started again, a fail on my part to keep it together. However, my big brother doesn't fail me and lets me know, "You're right, you've just got to let them think that you don't care. You be the winner." But I don't want to be the winner, right now I'm enveloped in being the sulking loser. He knows that his words sunk in deep, unable to show on the surface right now. He lets me be, his sleeve becoming saturated, but the flow slowing. I regain my composure, and he looks me in the eyes. "You're okay. You're amazing, and I love you." My brother's rare show of emotion catches me off guard, and lends me enough confidence to regain myself at last. "Now keep it together, because I'm going to get some apple cake." Classic big brother. I snatch a handful of chocolate chips and join him downstairs.

Back on the couch, I glance over at that very same kitchen counter. Now, there's no six foot one teenager dominating the scene. Dominating now is the emptiness, Ute's mission call in my peripheral vision. He's in Ecuador, and I'm left to deal with everything with only my chocolate chips for companionship. The weight of the situation almost makes me shoulders slump, but the silver bag makes me realize that someone will always be there for me. "You're okay. You're amazing, and I love you."