Sleeping in Boats

Earlier today, I was sailing and I was wondering why my shorts felt so heavy. I also falied to notice that I was soaking wet, and that my shorts, which were made of towel material, were incredibly absorbant and took in almost all the water there was. Any of you that saw me out there, luffing right into the wind, pulling and staring at the mytery of the watery shorts… that was me.

Speaking of sailing, I was at a regatta the other day. I got eighth out of fifty, which you would probably say was great, but there was only one race because of the dramatic circumstances. There were over one hundred farhenheit of heat, and no wind at all. Most people were just sleeping in their boats. It isn’t such an achievement in those kinds of cases, unfortunately.

Now, speaking of sleeping in boats, and since I’m full of these useless stories, I have to simply ‘excite’ you with another one. We were team racing the day before yesterday, and I got paired up with Em, who never even tries to sail. I probably spent more time in the no-go zone, waiting for her to catch up, than I ever did actually sailing.

Anyways, I had her in my cover zone after about five minutes of waiting for her, and  I was just leaning out of my boat looking at all the moon jellies, when I heard this soft, sweet snoring coming from behind me. Believe me- in days like this one, it is quite a rare sight to see somebody, regardless if it’s Em or not, sleeping peacefully away in their boat. No wonder she was moving so slowly. She had completely lost control over her boat when she fell asleep.

It was actually almost a scare to see her doing that, but now it’s basically everybody’s favorite campfire story for laughs.

Yours truly,]

Sophie

Nowadays

I’m trying to think of something to write about that’s completely original, and that nobody has ever seen before. Good luck trying to be me.
These days, I’m actually just lounging at the pool when I’m not sailing, staring up into the sky while I get a sunburn, wishing that something totally new and amazing would happen to me.
Though I do not want to fall head first off a two story porch again!

Yours truly,
Sophie

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Being Free

Big people, the grown-ups, the grandmas, and the grandpas, always claim the middle school was (and will) always the hardest part of being junior, and being a kid. A lot of people know middle school as junior high, where the girls start to straighten their hair and shoot up a couple of feet (and inches) over the years. Junior High- where the boys still walk around, short, with their baggy shorts, backward caps, and their lame jokes like, “Why can’t your hand be twelve inches? It would be a foot!” (hahaha…)

But yet again, I wouldn’t agree to that “on my life” (not literally). Elementary school was always the hardest. Oh, sure, until third grade or so, nobody stopped teasing you if you were best friends with a boy, but in fourth and fifth grade, they really let the rockets on you. Not to mention that Arianna had stopped being best friends with Harrison in first grade. But that is not my story to tell. Not yet.

My story were the popularity ladders. The discrimination. The control. The people that were so full of hate to one another, that every word they spoke dripped with red, thick, syrupy loathing. And, finally: the ones that tried so hard to let each other down. You can tell me what you want, but middle school wasn’t like that. Girls just cared about their bodies and getting skinny, while boys just cared about winning their sport’s championships.

Third grade was my best year. Or so they said. My school had unknowingly developed a complex system of “points” and popularity ladders. It wasn’t official; it wasn’t the complete deal, but everyone knew it existed. Everyone knew that’s how it worked. The lower kids, the ones who weren’t good at being pretty, stylish, or what-else, could get messed with. The upper kids, the “good” ones, couldn’t get messed with. If you were on top, you usually stayed there. If you were on the bottom, you always stayed there. If you were in the middle, nobody really touched you, looked at you, or anything, and your popularity could eventually go either way.

Before third grade, I was always a middle kid. I cared more about books and my horse back riding competitions than I did wearing the latest trashy shirt, or texting the latest abbreviations (biffles, LOLOLOLOLOMG, which I still don’t understand). I was fine with it, since I had my friends and nobody ever teased me or cared if I did something stupid.

Then came the beginning of third grade. Where my group of middle kids got stuck sitting right next to the upper, popular, “OMG” kids. My friends started thinking that it was vitally important to somehow become one of “them”, one of the girls who could do anything, say anything, be anything, without the whole school crushing them down like boulders to a fly. I didn’t get it then, but I do now. It was simply how you survived.

Lanie, Rose, Beth, Alexa, Kim, Amanda… they were all there. Lanie, at that time, was super nice. She cared about everybody, the way Kim, Amanda, and Alexa did. Rose, from the start, was mean but popular. And rich. I don’t remember the details of it, but one day on the playground, Lanie asked me if I wanted to play. Just thought, why not? Since then, I just became one of them. Those girls. The top girls. It was, in my opinion, kind of stupid, to rocket the ranks just because of a friend, but it was that way.
After two years of being with those “up” girls, I began to question my freedom. Was I more free being someone who the whole school looked at, for advice, “promotions”, and admiration… Or did my freedom lie where I was before, in the middle level, with my own real friends, and my own interests?

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Summer Days

Now it’s finally the end of the school year- and the start of summer! I now have a lot more time to spend on my blog, and I have a lot more time to do “fun” things like figure out where my dog’s squeaky toy is (that’s the downside of summer, I have to say).

summer-days

Two summers ago was probably the best two months of my life. I went back to native Europe, (Paris, Berlin, and Munich) where I saw more than ever thought I could. The best moment was the German International (Equestrian) Competition. I was in Germany for training and a few competitions. I had finished giving Amerika and Quicksand their pears and carrots, when my best friend came racing in. “Sophie! We forgot about the German International, you dope!” With a start, I finally realized that today was August 20, 2011, and I had forgotten all about one of Europe’s most important competitions (please beware: “German International” is just the English-translated version of the name, and is not authentic).

The competition was not something that I want to describe. I would not only be super repetitive, but also not able to really describe what happened. I will only just say: what I saw took my breath away. What I saw inspired me more than anything else could ever have. I wanted to achieve.

That summer, I also started competitive sailing for the first time, and though I can’t say that it was really the most enjoyable thing of my life, it also influenced me by showing that if my mom wanted me to sail, I had the option of either sailing or sailing.

Another small (and final) thing that happened to me that summer was me starting the flute, and getting inspired by a Salzburg woodwind quartet. I dropped a lot of things to play the flute, but now am glad that I did. I couldn’t be more thankful that I was able to play the way I did!

I had a pretty dull school year, and those mean kids were worse than ever. But them again, maybe this summer will make up for it, and be as good as the summer that I had in 2011. A summer of sightseeing, fun, realizations, inspirations, and… life.

xo,

Sophie

P.S. I hope you guys at least enjoyed your school year!

My spring resolution is to write more, and improve my posts a little!

Sweet Treats and Crushes

I just realized that this is going to be my first post with words only! Well anyways, here goes…

I can’t say that I’ve been doing much these past few days, other than setting up Project Pony (which you can get to using the sidebar). However, I have this one guy who really
gets on my nerves, but you always end up knowing how the story goes, with the girl blushing, the boy kneeling, and all the mushy stuff in between. The thing is, he gets on my nerves in a good way. Dillon is super popular, and and amazing athlete. He’s nice to people, plus he’s funny. He is drop dead gorgeous, which obviously makes him every girl’s central crush. I shouldn’t be talking, though, since I have the pretty much exact same feelings as those other girls. *sigh*

My best friend, Jane, was in an elementary school group that included Dillon. It was Jane, a few girls, Dillon, and a few boys, back in those good old days when no one cared if boys and girls played together and Dillon wasn’t really popular. I think there is just this lasting friendship between Dillon an Jane that made my best friend introduce me to him. For me, it was pretty much love at first sight (unfortunately, you can never be sure about Dillon’s opinion). You know the rest, and I just realized that I’m pretty much rambling around about things that probably interest you zero percent, or at least very little. That’s why I’ll now get to the bottom line of this: I wish Dillon would notice me as more than just a friend.

On the happier note, I had an amazing weekend. Buggy (my links aren’t working, but I mentioned her on Project Pony) and I (Buggy is my pony- and yes, I am small enough for ponies, sadly)… where was I? Oh yeah. Buggy and I hit the away-show we went to this weekend with awesome results- first, first, second, and a final grand champion ribbon! (whoo!)

I wish that my whole life was as successful as that show was. Sadly, it isn’t.

 

Yours,
Sophie the-not-so-great.

The Memory Game

It is such a bad title for the many things I really want to share right now. They’re things that I’ve watched happening, and now, I feel like kicking myself for not doing anything about them earlier. Well, rather- I’ve already mentally kicked myself. Now I want to do it physically, but I have to figure out how first. Though I have to tell this to myself: good luck with that. And I suppose: here is what I want to tell you.

It kind of started months ago: I guess I should introduce the “characters” first. Mary Jane? The girl being bullied- the one called a midget, a shrimp, and a million other things by people who’ve never even talked to her. Bethany, Courtney, Rose, and Lanie are the posse, the posse that I used to have a best friend in (Lanie was once my best friend). They’re feared, and you don’t exactly ever want to mess with them. That is, unless you’re like me, try it once, and then realize your immediate problem. It’s rather sad, since they’re a pretty good-looking bunch of girls, that lots of guys would want had they not been so vicious.

The first time I saw Mary Jane being bullied was six months ago (I think). Courtney had found her, and since Rose was absent, it was Lanie and Bethany who advanced on her. They said a lot of words that I don’t want to repeat- not because they were curse words, but simply because they disgust me so much. I knew what they were up to- saying things like, “Oooh, Mary Jane, love your shoes!’ and “Hey, Mary Jane. Come hang with us.”
Behind her back, though, they would be criticizing her, insulting her, and whispering their plans for her. I still feel horrible that I didn’t go up and say anything- but I guess it was just the fear of those girls that made me stop.

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As if that wasn’t enough, the second time they struck was in the cafeteria about a month later. Mary Jane had become “friends” with Bethany, Courtney, Lanie, and Rose- she had genuinely thought that she had become “part of the cast”. It sickened me, but I just stayed watching. I think lots of people noticed it by then, but no one did much against it. It was always fear, fear, fear.
I don’t really know how it came to it, but suddenly Mary Jane had her face in her hands, she was crying, and she was running from the lunch table as if there was a rocket on her heels. I later heard, from someone that had watched the whole ordeal within earshot, that Lanie had “accidentally” let it slip that the whole clique had never thought positively of Mary Jane. I sort of understood Mary Jane better and better- a girl who had made some friends, girls whom she had dared to trust-girls who had ended up showing their despise for her. The next day, Mary Jane wasn’t in school.

I think it was kind of done after that- but then again, it wasn’t. Mary Jane kept going back to them. I wanted to tell her to just ignore them, and realize that they were all in all bad girls, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “Sometimes they’re nice, but sometimes they’re mean. There’s something that happens to basically “unleash” their meanness. I want to find out what it is.”
“Jane”, as she was nicknamed by some, was a girl who was so intelligent- she wasn’t like the rest of the grade, at all. She gave one person more than two chances, and even the worst people did she try to understand. I decided to stick around her more- not only did she turn out to be really kind, but also a kind of “dream” friend that lots of people wish they had.

It really explains a lot that Jane and I became the best of friends after that. Almost, I would actually thank the mean girls. They brought me more than they thought- they gave me Jane. Lanie and her troupe kept trying to “deflate” Jane. They tried new insults on her, criticizing her dream of coming to Yale University, telling her that in 20 years, they would be nice enough to take her off the streets and let her live in their mansions. But then, I always told Jane, “You shouldn’t believe them. You’re growing prettier and prettier and prettier by the minute. You are one of the smartest people in the school. You work harder than anyone. You can do anything with your life.” Jane thankfully took that as true (it was, but she was modest).

Later, Jane stopped going near Lanie, Bethany, Courtney, and Rose. It didn’t matter. We had each other.

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If I Could. +Lines.

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Hi guys! Hope you had a good Sunday so far, since I sure had a pretty petty day…

It started when I went to the city, in the stupidly scorching hot sun, to see the MoMA Rain Room exhibit. It’s supposed to be a room in which it rains- however, wherever you walk, it doesn’t rain. That’s a neat and really cool part of all this, but I don’t want to spoil it for you. Anyways, my mom was told that we could practically just walk right into the building and avoid the line if we came early in the morning to see the rain room…

…which was a big mistake. We got through the check-in quick enough, that was for sure, but then there was another line. That was kind of the standing ovation of the day, except I wasn’t exactly in the cheering part of the crowd. As it turned out, the line was only three to four hours long, and we would have to wait in an open, super hot, bench-less area. Ugh. My mom kinda popped at that, and for the rest of the taxi ride to the restaurant, I had to listen to the agonies of my poor, unfortunate mother (though good luck surviving at that). But then again, I shouldn’t complain about her complaints, since I was also screaming curses at the line. Only difference was, I kept it to myself.

If we ever do get to battle the line, and get to the rain room, I’ll share it all with you here, along with pictures. Though I don’t know if that’s gonna happen, since my mom spent a straight minute or so talking about how Americans had too much patience- they could stand in a line for hours and hours, somehow without erupting. Problem was that I kind of agreed with her (sorry, my dear old country!).

The time that I did actually last in the line, I made up a bunch pf things that would be wonderful if I could turn into them: a bird, a polar bear, a tree (I’m sorry- did I hear something?) and a garden post (at least they usually get to stand in the shade).

Maybe I would also not mind to become an ice cube.

Yours,

Sophie

ImageAhhh… the good old dreams of being in a certain place. Otherwise known as the beach by ordinary people.

P.S. All the pictures are by me.

P.P.S. In the sidebar: my follow buttons and profile pic are annoyingly not showing.