Liar Liar Pants on Fire

Can you imagine going 24 hours without lying once?

You're probably thinking, "oh heck yeah, that's so easy!". But it's not. I don't mean the kind of lying such as, "no mom, I didn't sneak out yesterday," or, "no dad, I don't have a boyfriend," I mean, "hey girl, love the new shirt!" and, "wow I love your shoes," kind of lying. 

I hate it.

The other day I was thinking about how I really hate how girls do that (for the record, boys don't, and if they don't like someone's shirt they'll either say they don't like it or keep their mouths shut) and like a miracle, an article about challenging yourself to not lie for 48 hours popped out at me. This article, in Women's Health Magazine (love it!), challenged readers not to lie for 48 hours. 

I decided to do 24 because I knew it would be hard. Even for me. And I said that because I'm not even one of those girls who walks around throwing up comments because that makes her seem like a nice popular girl. (That may have been too much, but if you do it and deny it you have problems, and if you any that it's not all that goes on in high school... uyy open your eyes). 

So the next day I marched into school planning on multiple things:
1. To not tell someone I like her shirt or any article of clothing if I don't actually have a genuine like for it.
2. Not to compliment someones hair if I don't actually like it and
3. To say what I feel (I do that everyday, all the time, but it would've been okay now).

I did all of it.

Seriously. It's become something the people, including myself, do involuntarily, and not as a mean thing necessarily (although some people do it to be mean). Sometimes I'd do it as a conversation starter, or to be nice to someone. But what good is being nice if it's a fake nice? No good. 

It's quite confusing. You either be nice, but a fake nice, or rarely compliment people and be genuine (unless you actually like something).

It's a hard thing to do, but I strongly recommend to everybody that you try to be just a little more honest. It feels good, trust me. 

Hasta viernes, mis amigos. 

My Friday Morning

This morning, because I really am a little bit crazy, I woke up at 5:30 and walked (with my tripod and camera, wearing an orange construction vest) down to the bridge hoping to catch the sunrise. I wanted to catch the sun right as it was coming up, but as I was peacefully walking I realized it was relatively light out. 

So picture this: a girl, with her hair in a librarian bun and wearing an orange construction vest, trying to run with a tripod, camera and camera bag. I am 100% sure that I looked as stupid as I felt.

 By the time I got to where I was going to set up my tripod, I had missed the beautiful pink color that I wanted to see, but the sky was a beautiful orange mixed in with the light blue. So I took so many pictures, and I am going to brag right now for a full paragraph:

MY PICTURES WERE SO AMAZING SCREW YOU ALL OF YOU INSTAGRAMERS! 

I was very pleased when I uploaded them on to the computer because I didn't have to edit them one bit. Yes, I will be conceited right now because I can be. All of the colors were perfect because I had the shutter speed and aperture set perfectly and they were just genuinely nice pictures. I don't know, I just kind of enjoy looking at them. Some of them were taken from cool angles, too, which really made the picture completely different. 

On that note, I do want to explain why I don't like Instagram. Actually no, let me rephrase that. 

I don't like how people who use Instagram think that all of a sudden they're photographers.

That's not to say that I think I'm one either, I know I have my stuff to work on, but really, just because your iPhone takes a picture and Instagram tints it doesn't make it a good picture. A lot of photographers can do what Instagram does with just their camera (and no, not the edit options on the little digital cameras, just using their knowledge of how to work their cameras). 

However, I do like how Instagram is a photo-sharing social network because looking at other peoples photos is interesting. One of my friends actually has it so she can keep up with Harry Styles, her newest obsession (it's really hilarious), but every picture she shows me of him makes him look really stupid. Oh well.

Anyway, take a look at a few of the pictures I took today. Until next Friday! 

"Everything has beauty,

                               but not everyone sees it."

              -Confucius

My View on YOLO

I think I sat here for maybe 10 minutes actually trying to figure out what I should write about this week.

I was thinking hmm... maybe I could share about how I've decided I don't want to marry one of the people I wanted to marry anymore (but that changes daily). Or, I could talk about how I've had a ridiculous amount of school work. Maybe the annoying people at the gym again? Nope.

I think I'll share my views on the acronym "YOLO."

I absolutely positively love this. I completely agree with the fact that you only live once and you mine as well have a fun life blah blah blah, but I don't understand why this has become such a stupidly used phrase. 

The other day I saw a status on Facebook: "Going to take a nap #YOLO" and I thought, well good for you little boy. And then I saw this tweet that said, "closing the fridge door slowly to see when the light goes out #YOLO" and I almost lost it. That has absolutely no relevance to only living once. As a matter of fact, if that's what someone does with his or her life that's embarrassing (just realize I've done that numerous times). I think if you're going to use it, use it the right way. 

When you're streaking across a baseball field and you will be streaming across the television screens of millions across the nation, then use YOLO. Maybe if you get the courage to talk to someone you've always wanted to that could be a yolo (not in caps, because that's not that big of a deal). If you just went skydiving then I would definitely say the term is appropriate. 

But no, it is not appropriate when you're talking about how you did something that you do everyday and has to actual significance whatsoever. 

I also wouldn't use the term YOLO if you want to be classy. Acronyms in general aren't a very classy thing. (That's why everybody makes fun of the girls that say "LOL" out loud when they're having a face-to-face conversation...yes, you know exactly who you are, and darling, it's so incredibly annoying). 

And lastly, don't let YOLO be the reason you get detention or arrested. That's barbaric. 

Planet Fitness: The Judging Zone

       Like many people across the country, I work out on a daily basis at Planet Fitness. Generally, I love it there. It's the perfect size, the workers are nice, and it's running distance from where I live. But as with all gyms, there are some things that drive me completely crazy!
       First off, its motto: "The Judge Free Zone." Okay, it is entirely impossible to not judge people when you're at a gym. That man who's lifting 20 pounds dumbbells and making a face as if he's holding the weight of the world on his shoulders is going to be judged. That lady who walks around the gym, in her little old lady scarf, for exercise will most likely be judged. The buff dude who walks around with arms that don't touch his sides (yes, there are those people there despite the commercials) will, heck yes, be judged. The person who walks on the treadmill at an incline of zero and a speed of 3.2 miles per hour and thinks that's a workout will be judged. And all of the very attractive muscular boys there will be judged- by all of the girls. And the reason there are all of these crazy people there is because of the motto! If a company, especially a gym, has a motto such as "The Judge Free Zone"that is practically an invitation for all of the crazies in the world to come and be crazy in front of other people and think they're not being judged.
      Back on track, a typical day at PF. Depending on the weather, I run/walk/drive there. When I get there, the first thing I do is stretch. Stretching makes you taller (in my world anyway). Then, I go do my cardio, which means opening a can of whoop ass on one of the cardio machines. One day, I was showing off a little bit because a certain guy I know was right next to me on the treadmill, and I ended up running so fast that I thought my legs were going to fall off. Not really, I wasn't going my fastest, it was about 9 miles per hour (I think it feels different on actual pavement). Anyway, as I was being a cheetah, the guy next to me kept peering over at me, so in my head I'm thinking, "loser, a girl is going faster than you." Just as I'm slowing down (my hair fell out of my pony tail), he tapped me on the shoulder and said, "you need to slow down, you're making me look bad," which ended up turning into a whole conversation. And don't act like you don't show off at the gym when you can, I know you do.
      Next I go do my resistance, or weights. That's my favorite part because I'm strong and it's easy. I don't want to get into my routine, but I do want to share this annoying tidbit. I absolutely am revolted by people who grunt when they lift weights. I never ever want to hear a grunt at the gym. I understand that maybe the weight is a little heavy, but they either need to 1. get a lighter weight or 2. breathe like a normal person. The gym is not a sexual experience. Seriously.
      Lastly, one of the things I constantly notice at the gym is that all of the attractive guys are with girlfriends. It's kind of a disappointment (not that I'd ever even think about acting upon it). I think if I owned a gym I would hire attractive men just to go there because I'm convinced that would increase profits (once again, that's just in my world). But think about it all of you gym owners, I could be onto something big here.
      Despite all of the negative things I say about the gym, I do spend a good time of my life there. It really is an okay place, I'd recommend it. But don't be fooled by its motto all of you crazy people out there. You will be judged. And I just might be the person judging you.

When Life Hands You Boys...

        I’m going to let you all in on a little secret. I’m very open with my life. I guess that means that wouldn’t be considered a secret because really, I don’t have many secrets. My friends know I am more than willing to tell them if I’ve been rejected and by whom. So here’s one of those stories:

I’m a member of my high school Debate Team. Now before you go and judge, mind you, we have a lot of jocks, so it’s not just a gathering of nerds debating whether or not marijuana should be illegal (we have some marijuana users too, so that was a fun debate).

       On occasional Saturdays, members of the team will travel to different high schools to compete in competitions. Once again, mind you, these competitions are not just  gatherings of weird high school students (not to say that there aren’t weird high school students there...). If you asked me one word to describe those competitions it would be “flirt” because when all of the debating is done, we flirt. And what girl wouldn’t? When my surroundings are a bunch of teenage boys in suits, I’m not going to put that to waste. When life hands you boys, you flirt. 

Anyway, one Saturday I met a boy who, in my premature teenage mind, is perfect. Not only was he Lebanese (I have an infatuation with Lebanese people), he was attractive and his name was beautiful. 

Sabrina’s Math: Lebanese + Attractive = My Future Husband. 

He was also on crutches. So picture a gorgeous boy on crutches...aaah. Throughout that day I became speechless around him. It was typical “girl likes boy, girl doesn’t know what to say to boy” behavior. That behavior has only happened to me with two guys in my whole entire life (the second one will be a good story, but I’ll have to mentally prepare myself to tell you guys about him because I really do want to marry him...not kidding). So not only was I shocked, my friends were shocked. 

Long story short: The boy, on crutches, ran away from me. I’ve never even heard of that before. It’s not like it was a little broken toe, he had a broken knee or something of that sort, and he managed to RUN AWAY. 

To make myself feel better, I deemed him plagued with “all boys school syndrome.” 

So that, my dear readers, is the story of how a boy on crutches ran away from me, and I was rejected.