Candy

August 21st

Vegetarian.
I haven’t ever really thought about it like that.
Well, you know, I guess it could be a possibility.
But I’m a picky eater. I mean, I hate most vegetables, some fruits- I still can’t get over that tomatoes are fruits!- and a few dairy products. Most of my diet is meat!
And if I were vegetarian that would mean a lot of Spaghetti O’s.
When I brought the conversation- meat or no meat- to my mom she nearly grounded me.
I believe her exact words were, “Candace Lee Black! If you even think of getting the least bit pickier with your food, I’ll- I’ll- I’ll do something and you won’t like it!”
The subject was closed.
But, I’m too much of a freak- so says my brother (freak is his favorite word/insult, by the way)- to let things go so I said, “Geez Mom! I wasn’t actually thinking about doing it myself-“(major lie)”-I was just concerned over Sissy’s safety.”
Sissy, whose real name was Jayme Marie Jones, was my vegetarian sister; I just call her Sissy because it’s a bad habit that I refuse to drop. Anyways, Jayme-Sissy is one of those big ‘green’ people. She’s always protesting for the sake of animals and all that fun shit. (Sissy was going to try to be a vegan but the proposal of life without Milk Chocolate was just too much for her to handle. She tried to make a proposal to the President of the Vegan Club- yes my school has one- about how cows don’t really count. Long story short, her proposal got rejected and she is officially a vegetarian.)
My mom gave me a look and said, “I’m not falling for your tricks one bit Candy. Go do your homework.”
And then I skipped off and did so.
I love my homework.
And I’m not even one of those smart ordinary homework loving people.
I just love homework because it’s got rules. And you have to follow those rules or you fail. That’s what I don’t like about life. You don’t often get things that if you don’t do correctly you fail. If you get sick or depressed you can always get over it- you may not however, I’m not being ignorant to the hundreds of teen suicides everyday (Sissy’s an advocate- that’s a big word- for those too). But in homework, either you do good or you do bad.
That’s why I like rules.
I don’t like sports.
There aren’t enough rules.
I play sports though, and I’m pretty good at them- seeing as I’m playing three varsity sports in one year- but I don’t like them.
There’s too much elbow room with sports.
Sometimes things are good enough, great, not so hot, or fucking terrible. Why can’t everything be: you win or you lose?
It’s too hard!

x---- Candy :)

August 22nd

Okay, since vegetarian’s out of the question, what about preppy?
Preps are always so happy.
But a lot of preps are cheerleaders.
And I just don’t know if I could do that.
I’m not saying that all preps are cheerleaders, mind you- don’t get all offended on me- but I’m saying that a lot of them are. And they wear Hollister.
I don’t know if I could do that either.
I like Hot Topic and Zumiez and Pac Sun too much.
I also really like that little punk/emo/prostitute/goth store that’s around the corner. That place’s the best!
I talked to Sissy about whether or not I should convert to preps. Well, actually I asked her what she thought of preps.
She gasped and started ranting in her best tree-hugger voice (I’m hoping that the use of this voice was nearly for my entertainment, because whenever she seriously uses that voice she’ll have a protest going up the next day), “The preps at our school! They are always stupidly wasting our environment! Doing those stupid little ‘love’ notes! And their fingernail polish!”
You should thank me, I cut that rant way short. So Sissy didn’t think I should be a prep.
I then went and asked my brother, Mike. I liked asking Mike about these kind of questions better because he was a lot more selfish than Sissy was, and sometimes you just need to think about yourself.) He gave me a long slow look and said, “Candy. No.”
I frowned at him, “No what?”
“Don’t do it.”
“And why not? This could be my calling, you know!”
Mike turned to face me and he put one hand on each of my shoulders- it was scary, this had been the most serious I’d EVER seen him. “Candy. Think about it. Preps mean no volleyball, no basketball, no track, no hotdogs-“he should’ve known that by the time he said the hotdog statement I was already won over, but he gave me an even longer list.
For argument’s sake, I shot back, “Preps can play sports! Have you seen that Lizzie Van Der Welt chick? She is all over the basketball court!”
“Candy!” Mike rolled his eyes, “Just don’t make this mistake. Trust me. You are not prep material.”
This offended me.
In movies the preps were always the beautiful girls who had the best boyfriends and the cutest clothes. I told my other older brother about this. And he gave me a disgusted look as he finished breaking up with his cheerleader girlfriend- coincidence right?- “Candy! They’re also the ones who lose the boyfriend to the skater, tomboy chicks and are bitchy! In Disney movies at least!”
I gasped and hit his arm, “Don’t swear! Just because I’m your younger sister doesn’t mean you have to keep toughening me up!”
Jon gave me an odd look, “Candy, if anyone needs protecting, it isn’t you. I saw the way you reacted when you caught Josh kissing that other chick.”
Okay, just because I punch my cheating asshole of a boyfriend out- I gave him a wicked awesome black eye- does not mean that I am superman! At all. It’s just that I’ve got an exceptionally good right hook.

x--- Candy ;)

August 23rd

I’ve got eight more days till school. And what is the only think I can think about?
Jocks.
Maybe being a jock wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, I’m halfway there already.
All I need to do is to be all out about it.
I’m confused about the whole Jocks subject. What separates jocks from preps? Or from emos?
Being a jock isn’t a clothing style, it’s a life style.
So I gave up even thinking about that and began to think about my dad.
He seriously is the dad of all dads. He is awesome! He works hard during the day but makes sure that he’s home every night to see us to bed. He’s been to almost all of Mike’s, Jon’s, Nate (my eldest brother) and my own games or meets. He supports my mom. He gives all of us gifts. He takes care of us. He’ll help us with our homework. He’s amazing!
It may be slightly obvious that I’m a bit of a daddy’s girl. I always have been.
My dad’s opinion is worth more to me than other’s opinions, and that’s because he doesn’t lie.
If you sucked during a game he won’t make a comment, if you did okay during a meet he won’t say a word, but if you do good he’ll tell you. “Hey. Candy. You did good out there.”
My dad isn’t the type that he’ll buy his kids something that they won’t even like or use just because he doesn’t know what they like. He knows what we want and he’ll give it to us, if he can. In my entire life I’ve never gotten a Barbie doll from him, because, of course, I’d only chop off their heads with scissors and flush it down the toilet- like I did with Sissy’s.
My dad is great.
He’s my world.

x--- Candy