jessie's girl

For this week's post, Mrs. Joyner said to relate to a character from the Outsiders. When she told us that this was the assignment, I was stumped. I'm a pretty lucky kid. I have a lot more than the Greasers did, and I don't feel like an outsider at school or anything. But, nevertheless, I think I found my topic. The whole time I was reading The Outsiders, I found little things about Sodapop that I just really connected to. Ponyboy describes him as "drunk on just plain living" in the very beginning of the book. That's kind of how I aspire to live. Just living in the moment, and loving every second of every day. Just living for the feeling of it, and living for the moments where all that matters is now, and smiling, and just being drunk on life. I don't know if that makes sense. I think of it as the moment in the movies where the main character is in a car on the highway at sunset and they turn up the music loud and stick their head out of the sunroof. Ya k

My moms say that my dreams are "impractical", and I need to have a back-up plan. They say that the chances of my dreams being a reality are "one-in-a-million", and that they'll probably only ever be dreams. That doesn't stop me from dreaming, though.  If you read my last blog post, "jessie's future", you'll know that in 10 years I'll be living a relatively practical life. However, believe it or not, that exciting, post-Berkeley, single L.A. girl life is only the back-up plan. My dreams have much more in store. In an alternate universe, jessie's future looks like this: I woke up to the California summer breeze coming through my French doors and Cookie licking my hand  (Cookie gets to stay, he's one of my dreams). I walked out of my spacious master bedroom and down the stairs, feeling particularly grateful this morning for my huge, beautiful coastline home. I brought in the mail, along with 3 big boxes from Tarte, Anastasia Be

10 years from now, I'll be 23. I don't like to worry about the future, because then I won't have time to enjoy right now, but since the future is inevitable, why not make a blog post about it? In 10 years, I'll have graduated from UCLA. I know, tough school, but I hope I'll get some sort of scholarship, either academic or volleyball. I'll live in a cozy apartment in downtown L.A. with a view, and I'll have a dog named Cookie. I'll have degrees in political science and social justice. I could never have a desk job, so I'll be doing something  that's hands-on, and something that helps the world.  I've always said I want to change the world, but the world is overwhelming, because I can't fix everything, as much as I want to. I'll have lots of passion for my job, and I'll hopefully change lives. In 10 years, I'll have worked hard to get where I am. I'll have studied instead of partying. I'll have saved up for the thing

Wow, identity. What a big concept. I don't know know if I can cover everything in one post. To be honest, I don't even know what to write about, or where to begin. I don't even know who I am, I'm only 13; I've still got a lot to figure out before I can define myself, I think. But I'll try. I'm a teenage girl. I'm trying, really. It's hard, though. Being a teenager is hard. We don't want to do homework, we want to go out and have a life with our friends. And friends in general are just hard. Being the odd one out sucks, and not having friends is even worse. And don't even get me started on body image. Like, come on People Magazine, chill out with the weight loss tips from Kylie Jenner. And, oh my god, I'm telling you right now that you are not supposed to look like a Victoria's Secret model . Dear all media ever, stop feeding young girls the idea that they have to be skinny to be beautiful. Thank you, have a wonderful day. Anyways,

I'm obviously a child. Like I'm not an adult, (pfft, obviously) but I mean that I literally (as opposed to figuratively) still think my stuffed animals have feelings. I'm so emotionally attached to them, and I can't give any of them away. Ever.  My first, and most important, doll was my Bitty Baby. You know, the creepy, bald baby doll that American Girl sells. Her name is Bitty, because I was quite the original two year old. My moms gave her to me when my baby sister was on the way, as practice for having a sister, kind of. Now, obviously, my Bitty baby was* my pride and joy, and I was the coolest toddler on the block because of her, but I think Bitty was a lot more than that for me. She was my first imaginary friend. Now, of course, she wasn't imaginary in the sense that she wasn't there; she was definitely there. She was imaginary because I used my imagination to make her come alive, and be my first friend.  Bitty was a milestone for me. I think she reall