Teenage girls are a strange breed.
Pretty sure they scare the crap out of everyone. EVERYONE. Their parents. Their teachers. Their boyfriends. Even their other girl friends.
They. Are. Scary.
Emotional. Irrational. Vicious. Dramatic. Whiney.
Every other day is LIKE OMG THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE EVER EVER EVER.
Hopefully I’ve mellowed out a bit since then (er… *cough* 8 years ago…), but the fact of the matter is that I was one.
The teen years weren’t my favorite time of my life, even with my ability to cry at the drop of a hat. But it was bearable enough.
My parents may say otherwise. As the eldest of my brother and I, I took it upon myself to break my parents in. Test the waters. Push the limits.
Annoy the crap out of them.
My mom’s biggest complaint?
“Why do you always have to shut your bedroom door? What’s so secret? Why don’t you spend more time in the rest of the house with the family?”
I think she feared the worst. Maybe I was writing a manifesto. Or smoking crack.
Which is extremely ridiculous. Everyone knows you can’t write a manifesto until you’re at least 21. Duh.
And why would the rest of my family want to hang out with me anyway? I was a moody and high strung teenage girl. I wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with me, either.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s time I give her peace of mind.
Tell her what I was really doing behind closed doors.
Let the world know my secrets.
Ok. Here we go.
I was talking to my friends about boys on the phone. Trying on cute outfits for the weekend (because I was going to get to stay out until 11:00!). Putting on makeup.
And I was dancing. And lip syncing. To Britney. And Eminem. And Third Eye Blind. Because I don’t discriminate.
All of this in front of the mirror. Like a total dork.
That, my dear mother, is what I was doing.
Not that exciting.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t sneak a scandelous top out of the house under what I was wearing or in my purse (the gas station was an awesome dressing room).
That doesn’t mean I didn’t scrounge up a few bucks to split a 6-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade from time to time with, like, 5 other girls.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t end up on a road trip halfway across the state using entirely gravel roads. (Did you know that was possible? I sure didn’t.)
But as for what went on my room?
Singing and dancing. Strictly singing and dancing.
Oatmeal cookies were a standard in my mom’s rotation of baked goods when I was growing up.
However, she always used raisins in hers. Which are gross. So I’d only eat the cookie dough because the raisins were easy to pick out.
But now that I’m grown up, and sing and dance with no shame wherever I damn well please, I can make oatmeal cookiest without the raisins.
And maybe even add some cookie butter icing. Because I’m feeling spunky.
Look at the glaze… flippin’ everywhere…. sigh…
Maybe next time I’ll throw in some chocolate chips. Because I felt very strange not using any chocolate at all. Especially considering I rarely call it a dessert unless chocolate is involved.
Anyway. Now that you all know my secrets, I must sign off and get a few things done. Like buy a new hand mixer.
Plus I feel my mother may be calling soon about that mentioned road trip. So I should free up some of my schedule.
Yeah. I’m just super mean sometimes.
Happy Hump Day!