MR. PREZZ

"This inauguration feels like the first date with a really great guy after an eight-year long dysfunctional relationship with a loser who spent all my money." -Anonymous

As much as I bitch and complain about how sucky it is to be a teenager, I really have grown up in a truly amazing time period. I've been witness to the greatest technological achievements the world has ever seen, and been lucky enough to own some of them. I've seen our country unite after the horriffic events of 9-11-01, and now, I'm about to bear witness to the inauguration of our nation's first African-American leader.

I have to admit, as much as I think President Obama is an amazing man, I really didn't think he'd get the win, but I hoped with all I had, that he would. But I'll remember voting day for the rest of my life. Of course, being seventeen, I was too young to vote, but I was so excited all day, I could hardly control myself. I spent all afternoon/night watching the states turn blue, one after another. And then when I realized Barack Obama was going to be President of the United States, I felt a rush of happiness, and I cried. To see the underdog win for once was truly spectacular. Sure, he can't do EVERYTHING he wants to do, but he can put and end to some of the problems we're facing. Sometimes, the good guy really does come out first.

WINTER BLUES

It's winter, obviously. And it's a real bitch, here in Indiana. While our spring is lovely, and our summer is wonderful, they last about three months alltogether. They are my favorite seasons, and when they come, its literally better than Christmas.

And then there's fall. The leaves change to beautiful reds and yellows, the air is crisp, I break out my converse and wool mini skirts/tights, and I am blissfully happy. But, this joy lasts about two weeks and then the air goes from "beautifully crisp" to "pretty fucking frigid."

No sunshine, no cute little furry animals prancing about. We get: rain, freezing rain, hail, and even better.. ICE. And oh, the ice...

I wake up one morning and find the trees covered in crystals- it looks a bit like a fairy land. I think, "Oh! How lovely!" And then, I remember that my 1990 Toyota Camry has been sitting outside (because my parents take the garage for their luxury BMW and Mercedes SUV).

I am horribly, hideously angry at the thought of climbing into my sub-zero car, and am NOT looking forward to being unable to get my car to heat up (because this takes about twenty minutes, and the drive to school is only ten minutes long). So, I open the garage door and am hit by the blast of cold and I immediately feel like I am going to pee my pants from the freezing air.

And then the wind! Ha! I can't even DESCRIBE the gail-force winds except to tell you that they easily knock my 105 pound-ass right on the ground. I slip and slide on the ice, and the wind knocks me right back down. "Fucking great..." I mumble, as I scrounge for my keys at the bottom of my bag.

Hands trembling, knees knocking, I finally get my car door opened and I reach under my seat for the ice-scraper. "Yayyy! I get to stand out here in the fucking 9 degree air and scrape my car windows for twenty minutes..AND I'll be late for school. Joy!"

And each morning, its the same. For SIX MONTHS, October to March. It's absolutely depressing and awful. All I can look forward to is the first day of Spring, when the ice is melted and the sun is shining and the butterflies come out, and I can actually step outside without snot dripping from my nose and freezing on my face.

For now, I'll be in my footie pajamas, eating tomato soup, and dreaming of Betsey Johnson bikinis and tanning oil.

P.S. Yesterday is was FOUR DEGREES out side. IN PARTS OF ALASKA, it was FORTY DEGRESS. What the fuck?

I KNOW I SHOULDN'T, BUT I DO..

I have to confess to you all, (because I can't lie to you any longer):

I am officially obsessed with Katy Perry.

Now, before you click out of this screen, you have to know, this isn't by choice. She brainwashed me with her funky beats, hilarious lyrics, and adorable personality. I'm the victime here, I swear..

LET IT BE KNOWN.. I am still really really really irritated by "I Kissed A Girl", in fact, I think it's pretty fucking ridiculous, but by first note, I was pretty much in a trance with "Hot 'N Cold."

I guess it was because EVERYTHING SHE SAID WAS 100 % TRUE. Being a high school senior, my dating pool is pretty..limited. Most of the guys my age are ridiculous, can't keep up their minds, and are an embarrassment. Their definition of "style" is too see how many times they can wear the same pants in a row, and the extent of their vocabulary are words like: dude, party, what's up, hook up, tite, cool.

Its sickening, really.

And trust me, absolutely NONE of them can figure out exactly what they want - and most of the time, they decide on the slutty girls who will give them anything they want. Yeah, at first they start talking to me, acting like they're all interested and whatnot, and then some slutty bitch walks by and then the guy always goes from "six PM to midnight", and I'm basically outta the picture.

In Katy's words: They're hot, then they're cold. They're yes, then they're no. They're wrong, when it's right.

Will it ever change? Or, will I always be surrounded by morons?

For now, I'll be dancing in my kitchen to Katy Perry and making cookies. Cookies trump boys, every time.

PEOPLE WATCHER

There is a man in my small town who owns a small diner called "Best Bet." I frequent this restaurant because they give you "toast baskets" (who doesn't like large baskets of carbs and strawberry jelly?) and because the owner looks astonishingly like the Monopoly Man. Or, some kind of chartoon character. He has white hair, a poofy white mustache, and large fan-like eyebrows. His glasses frames are circular and he is always raising an eyebrow. He even wears a white chef's hat, and stripped pants. And each time I see him, I am filled with wonder. I want to draw him and submit him to a television station... "HERE! Make this man into a tv show!"

Not that I'm a stalker or anything, I just like when people have interesting facial characteristics. I love the weird, the odd, the alramingly beautiful or handsome, the strange, and the fantastic in other people. I am what an old friend once called a "People Watcher."

Once, Steve and I were sitting at the mall, watching the people pass by in front of him. I'd nudge him, saying, "Check out that lady's ponytail, it goes down to her butt!" or, "Oh my god that man has no eyebrows..." He'd laugh, and shake his head everytime. We didn't talk, we just watched.

I finally asked him why this was so funny. He explained, "You love doing this.. Its like you could sit here for days and just..observe everyone. And its not like you're doing it in a bad way, you're just watching, and noticing." I could tell the look on my face was shock - was I THAT person? Was I a stalker? He could tell I was bothered, "There's nothing wrong with it, you're just observing, learning from people. You're a people-watcher."

And what I need to know is, does anyone else do this? Or am I the only weirdo?

THE LADY WITH THE KITTY CAT SWEATSHIRT

My mom finally dragged me out of my peaceful squalor for dinner at MCL. I was quite reluctant to go (missing teeth, and all), and I whined and complained as she nagged me to go. And then she said what ALL parents say when they feel their children are being neurotic and vain, "It could be a lot worse, so count your blessings. Instead of missing teeth, you could be missing a limb."

YEAH MARY, I COULD BE...BUT I'M NOT...

I pulled on my favorite jeans, the ones I've been wearing since I was fourteen. She frowned in disdain, "I can't believe you're still wearing those tattered old things. They're filthy and stained." I smiled cheekily back at her, "Well mother, if you're going to drag me from my room into the public eye WHILST missing teeth, I'm going to wear what I want, and you're not going to say another word..."

This seemed to shut her up for a while.

Mary had managed to follow normal traffic laws, and for once I wasn't white-knuckling the elbow rest. I breathed a sigh of relief as she careened the BMW into a parking spot. The bright lights of the familiar cafeteria glowed pleasantly. I love MCL. I love anything that has to do with large groups of elderly, together in one place. I connect with the elderly. They get me, I get them. It's always been that way. I understand their arthritic pains, because I, too have arthritis; and they seem to like me. The old men at Bob Evans ALWAYS flirt with me, making jokes I've never heard before, "Get me an arnold palmer..no rum!" Ha. Ha. Ha. "Clever, sir!"

As we walked in, I smiled. These were my people.... I happily surveyed the crowd: two walkers, four canes, eight hats, and three fur coats. The elderly know what's up. I was starving after a long day of lying in bed, so I carefully chose my meal. Two chicken legs, mashed potatoes, corn, yeast roll, unsweetened tea with three lemons. This was bliss. Carefully, I picked up my tray of 2000 calories and quickly scanned the dining hall. What we needed was a booth. And, joy of joys, there was one open booth left! The flourescent lighting above the table seemed to twinkle as I slid into place. I began to un-tray my food, and I licked my lips with delight. My mom followed behind, "Good score on the booth," she said.

As we began to plunge into our meals, our ears perked at a shrill sound. Loud, twinkling, metalic. It could only be the ringtone of someone over fifty. My mother closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. She had a headache, I could tell by the crinkle between her eyebrows. But WHERE was the ringtone coming from, I wondered..And then a sugary-sweet voice barked into her phone, "HELLO STEVEN, HOW ARE YOU?" Why adults think they need to scream into their phones is beyond me. But they are always doing this in public. It's kind of pathetic, and at the same time, makes you want to rip the phone from their hands, and hit them over the head with something made of metal.

I flinched in pain. I suddenly realized that the sappy voice that broke the sound barrier was from the woman at the booth behind me. I had been unable to take my eyes off of her as I walked into the dining room because of the darling sweatshirt she was wearing. It was white, with little grey kittens with roses prancing around. Underneath, she doned a green turtleneck. She wore glasses as thick as bottle caps, and her bottle-red hair was teased. Obviously, she was a plot from PUNK'D and in a few minutes, Ashton was going to pop out in his Von Dutch trucker hat, and yell, "DUDE YOU JUST GOT PUNK'D!"

Kitty Cat sweatshirt-lady began a tirade about her recent airline experiences, "I'M REALLY DISAPPOINTED WITH NORTWEST AIRLINES THESE DAYS. I MEAN, THE SEATS WERE SO UNCOMFORTABLE, NOT TO MENTION THE FACT WE SAT ON THE RUNWAY FOR AT LEAST TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES.." she continued.

I realized that Kitty Cat sweatshirt-lady was NOT going to shut up. It had been ten minutes since she picked up the phone, and I had learned much about her love-life. Not only were she and her boyfriend John, going to be married in June, but they had met on an all-Christian dating website. They were "completely in love". They finished each others sentences, and "never disagreed on anything." He had two kids from a previous marriage, so he was really excited when he met Kitty Cat sweatshirt-lady because she was unable to bear children. It seemed obvious to me that she was on uppers, and that John was gay.

I finished my meal long before my mother, so I was forced to listen to Kitty Cat Lady ramble on and on about John, her cell-phone plan, Kansas, and wedding plans for a solid twenty minutes. By this time, the dining room was completely silent, and the only sound you could hear was, you guessed it...Kitty Cat Lady. I wanted to take my fork, reach over, and stab her in the head.

I kept sighing audibly, so that Kitty Cat Lady might hear me. "CAROLINE, STOP IT. YOU'RE EMBARRASSING ME," my mother hissed underneath her breath. "I'm embarrassing?" I laughed. I shook my head and picked at the leftover corn on my plate. I glanced around at the other diners, and they all had the same expression, as if they were being made to watch babies being skinned alive and fed to alligators. I imagined I had the same look on my own face.

Kitty Cat Lady continued, "YOU KNOW, EVER SINCE DAD GOT THAT HEART PROBLEM DIAGNOSED, THINGS HAVE JUST REALLY GONE DOWN HILL," I put my head down on the table as she relayed the story some more, to poor Steven, "I MEAN, HE'S JUST A TICKING-TIME BOMB AT THIS POINT. THE DOCTORS SAY HE'S INOPERABLE. HE DOESN'T GET OUT OF HIS WHEEL CHAIR AND HE HARDLY REMEMBERS ANY OF US. WE'RE BASICALLY JUST WAITING FOR HIM TO DIE. I THINK HE SHOULD BE PUT IN A HOME..."

At this point, I'd had enough. I got up from the table, and my other seemed to understand. I went to the the little "lobby" at the front of the restaurant and played with my cell-phone. Amazing, even thirty feet away, I could still hear Kitty Cat Lady.

And even though Kitty Cat Lady had completely ruined my dinner, and I was now ready to tackle the next person who spoke, and shove them down a flight of stairs, I was thankful to my mother; who, loved me enough to bring me out in public, even though I was missing teeth.

DENTAL WORK

I just had oral surgery. Well not 'just', I guess it was more like two weeks ago. I've been stuck inside the house the entire time, only leaving for necessities - like MCL, and shopping, of course. I am careful to cover my mouth so as not to frighten the public.
It was the kind of surgery where the doctor uses power tools and drills into your jawbone. I was having dental implants put in, which are tiny titanium screws that act like a 'root.' Two months from now, the teeth will be 'screwed' into the implants. I'll have beautiful, perfect teeth, but for now, I'm missing four. It's horrific, really.
I was given two halcyon tablets beforehand, which were 'guaranteed' to put me to sleep. When I woke up after surgery, I was told that a kind of blissful amnesia would sweep over me, and I'd have "no memory" of the procedure. Surgery that would, in the end, have me looking like a toothless popstar after a bar fight.
The nurse smiled happily as she guided me to my dental chair, "You'll be asleep soon!", she said. I was painfully aware of the fact that I was nowhere near sleep. My heart was thudding, and I glanced at the tools on the tray next to me; they were big, sharp, shiny things with heavy buttons, razor-sharp points, and swivel heads. I saw needles the length of my feet. I began to sweat profusely.
The doctor came in quickly. He was a small man, who was always moving around quickly. Like he had ADHD, or something like that. He had a strange look in his eyes as he glanced over towards the tools on the tray, I swear, I saw fire flames instead of pupils when he glanced back at me. He rubbed his hands together, and grinned down at me, "Let's get started!"
"HEY!" I said, starting to tremble, "I'm not asleep! I WANT TO BE ASLEEP! PUT ME TO SLEEP, NOW!!!" Suddenly, I couldn't control the level of my voice, I grabbed the doctor's arm.
He laughed, like I had just said something really absurd, like, "DO ME, FLAVOR FLAAAAAV!!!!!!" He shook his head, "No, no. We can't use general anesthetics in this office. I believe we're a bit ill-equipped in that department. I'm just going to numb you up, and you won't feel a thing!" Of course, I did. I felt each and every numbing shot - eight, in total.
And then it began. The constant drilling was the most high-pitch noise I've ever had to sit through. I was constantly gripping the armrests and moaning as if my arms were being cut off. Three hours later, I came out of the office, stumbling from shock. My brain felt like it had been shaken a hundred times over, and I was breathing as if I'd just run the New York Marathon. My mouth was full of gauze, and blood was dripping down my chin. Sexy.
I came home that night and slept a beautiful vicodin-induced sleep. The next morning, I woke up after the best sleep I'd ever had and was very pleased at the lack of pain I was feeling. I went into the bathroom and did a double-take when I recognized the monster in the mirror starring back as ME. My face was swollen, my under-eyes were black and blue, and I looked shockingly like Cindy-Lou-Who. I cried out in horror. I began to sob, loudly.
It would be five days until the swelling would go down. But, two weeks later, I am still without teeth. It's really quite depressing. Luckily, my wonderful parents aren't making me go to school until my retainer with teeth is ready on Monday. Bless them! Going to school right now would be a cruel and heinous form of torture. I think I'd end my own life.
For now, I'll be in bed watching reruns of Jon & Kate Plus Eight, eating sliced apples, and enjoying marathons of Beverly Hills 90210.
Thank God for good tv.