Allison's Private Journal

Dear Journal,

I’m 13!  Happy belated b-day to me.  Anyway, I just played softball for 7 1/2 hours at my tourny yesterday.  5 games straight!  Guess what!  We came in 3rd!  Oh yeah, guess who Sam H.’s going to the semi with!  Justin C.!!!

I feel really special right now.  When I was online, Ryan T. IMed me.  I practically never talk to him, too.  No biggy, I know, but I feel so loved.  I dunno why.

I slept over Madie’s house on Saturday w/ Vickie, and it was so fun!  We had fajitas and watched Simon Birch and the 2 Scream movies.  Me and Vic stayed up til like 12 making up things like “put your beef in my taco” and “put your rasberries in my bush”!  LOL it was so funny!

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I have always wondered why “put your rasberries in my bush” never stuck quite like the “beef in my taco” line.  Oh well.  As you can see, thirteen was the age where my love of sexual innuendo and inappropriate humor really peaked.  Later on I would fall deeply in love with the humor of Austin Powers’ Goldmember, sending my unladylike behavior to new heights.

While this part of my life was just in bloom, my romantic desires and pangs of drastically premature love were also on the rise.  Now, from previous entries you’d think it impossible for my love of boys that side-glance at me or talk to me to squeeze out information about/get the in with my middle school-hot friends to grow any more out of control, but it’s not.  “I feel so loved” because a boy I barely talked to IMed me?  I know for a fact this kid had the hots for my good friend Madison (everyone did, but they went out at some point), and maybe he had a little crush on me but in the context of this entry there was no reason for me to get jazzed up about this IM.  Clearly I had been lacking in the attention from boys department.  This, above all things, seemed to be my problem through maybe 11th grade, but my standards of attention were always and remain extremely high.  I want to tear my hair out and cry into a pillow if I haven’t been asked out, hit on, or accidentally romanced into the wee hours of the night after a non-date by some handsome rogue for more than a week or two, tops, when I’m in my moments of total singledom.  There is a little more cushion when I have a special someone in my life, but still, so far I have found I can be a bit of a chore to keep up with.  Also, I am crazy.  As Little Allison would say, whatever; only the strong survive in this world and that includes my bed.

I like to look at the phenomenon of my young romanticism much like a great techno or, to cater to more recent trends, dubstep song.  You can feel the beat building gradually, teasing and teasing towards that epic bass drop.  You might let out an “oooohhh shit!” or “here it comes wahoooo!” as it pulls you closer to the climax, only to realize you were way ahead of yourself and just got so damn excited you couldn’t sit back and enjoy the ride for an extra ten seconds.  Well, Allison’s romantic inclinations are kind of like that.  As she grows older, you think “Ok, she has really reached a level of critical mass.  There is no way this little girl could be any more delusional and desperate for monogamous love than she is right at this moment.”  Wrong.  That little girl became a young woman who became me, and many (including myself) may argue that we are still climbing towards that epic “BBBRRBBRRRBBRRRBBRRRWWWWRRRRRRRRRRR BBB BBB BBBB WRRRRRRR BBB BBB BBBBWWWWRRRRRBBBRRRRR” life is about to drop.

I was kicking around on YouTube the other day desperately searching for a remix of Katy Perry’s “E.T.” that gave me tingles at the bar a few weeks ago, and I came across an Afrojack song that was SICK but was just the pre-drop tease through the entire length.  It was awful.  But it gives me insight today that unless you make that bass drop of life happen, your dubstep song could be nothing more than a torturous buildup to nothing.  Kind of scary, right?

This is an example of what your life should look like in techno remix form.

The moral of this story is that when you find yourself making the same mistakes over and over again–in my case, realizing your overexcited 13-year-old habits are nearly mirror images of your issues nine years later–it’s time to let that bass drop and ride out the good shit.  I’d like to think I cut the self-teasing bullshit when I started digging into these journals.  I’ve found on many fronts awareness is the first step to self-fulfillment.  But I’ve still got a lot to learn, and a lot of hardened habits to break; most of us do less than a year out of college.  All it takes sometimes is laying those bad habits out, on a blog, publicly, to really get in the game.  It’s all one long, self-aware march from there.