Why I Can't Play Pokemon Go

In 6th grade, I had a very beautiful best friend. She was extremely thin and tall with long, blonde hair. She had adorable freckles scattered from cheek to cheek and she never wore make up. Her big, blue eyes were piercing and the kind you could spot out in a crowd. Next to me, she was practically perfect. Compared to my shorter, pudgier sixth grade self, she was a goddess.

We had sort of been thrust into friendship due to the fact that we rode the same bus and I often times wonder if this would have been different if we weren't forced to hang out every morning and afternoon. She was often times more mean than she were nice and she made sure I knew I was inferior.

Her skin was completely clear, lacking any sign of a pimple or blemish, so she never let me her the end of my facial flaws. I have a few scars on my face, one on my forehead, two by my right eye, and one on my chin. These were a product of fighting with my brothers growing up and one even came from getting shot in the head with a bow and arrow. However, I was already insecure about them, because they looked less like scars and more like dents in my skin.

My best friend, jokingly, would say I looked like a moon due to the dents in my skin. I didn't even know before then that they were that noticeable. She would say it in front of other people and they would all laugh at my likeness to that of a moon.

It sounds stupid, but this did really hurt me. Now as an eighteen year old woman, I have learned to love my imperfections, but as an eleven year old child, this crushed me. Not only did my own friend not find me okay the way I was, but other people found humor at my expense.

This name calling was the beginning of it all. My best friend, being the gorgeous girl she was, had boys drooling over her constantly. There was one boy, in particular, who I had a huge crush on that had a huge crush on her. (I feel so silly for saying crush. I sound like my sixth grade self.)

To make this easier to understand, we will give everyone in this post code names. My best friend will go by Tori. The boy I liked will go by Mitch.

Tori loved that Mitch liked her, despite how much she made fun of him for it. She was the kind of person who longed to be loved by everyone in order to feel secure about herself. Since I was her best friend too, I was thrust into many situations with Mitch and his friends. Whether it be sitting at lunch or walking in the hall, I talked to Mitch a few times. I thought I had a chance with him for a second, until Tori ruined everything.

Tori started to prank call Mitch's house phone (since he didn't have a cell) and would tell his parents it was me. After a few days of this, Mitch started to hate me. He thought I was weird and he told people I was a freak. That was unfortunately when the harassment began.

Mitch had two friends, who were no strangers to making fun of me. To my face, they would often call me "fat" and "ugly". Once I got a text from Mitch, where he called me a bitch. I was compared to Tori, called the ugly one. They made fun of how I wore my hair and sometimes called me "exhibit" implying that I was some sort of zoo animal. The one that hurt me the most was "Snorlax".

When Mitch and his friends first called me a snorlax, I was unsure as to what it was. I had never heard of such a term. That day when I got home from school, I google searched snorlax and the image that popped up made me cry.


They were calling me a term I didn't know and laughing at me. The image above is the snorlax. It is a character in Pokemon, which is known for being fat and lazy. To this day, I can't think of Pokemon without thinking of how hurt I was then. It really ruined Pokemon Go for me.

Professional blogger?

Recently, I have been intrigued with the idea of being a professional blogger. Honestly, I feel as though I have a very specific and unique voice that the world deserves to be heard. Not to sound conceited or like a complete douche kabob, but I think I am able to combine humor with serious topics and it ends up being enjoyable for others to read.

I have sort of hated the idea of keeping a blog, however. Someone being able to see all your private thoughts makes me feel weird inside. Kind of like those people on social media who post about all their problems- their recent divorce, their emotional drama, etc. I feel like those things should stay hidden. But this day in age, sharing your problems is the social norm. I am beginning to feel a bit out of the loop for not documenting my life or keeping an online journal.

I do like how blogging allows you to look back at certain times of your life and reflect. It helps with self evaluation and it records your personal growth. I also like how others can learn from what you share. If I can help even one person or share a story they needed to hear, it will all be worth it.

STORMY DAYS MAKE ME THINK

I was always one to like gloomy days

I used to not know why

but it seems that the more time that goes by

I understand why

I like dark skies and the sound of thunder

 I like the way the trees sway as harsh winds threaten their existence

 I like raging storms— ones that make you tense up and inconvenience your day

I understand why I like storms

I finally figured it out 

I like storms because of the one I feel growing inside me

I don’t know how much longer it will be before I finally break

I don’t know how much more of this I can take

I am much like a storm

Dark skies to dark thoughts 

The sound of thunder can heard late at night

 as I cry for what feels like hours 

I am much like a storm 

or like a tree in a storm

I sway back and forth desperately 

As these harsh thoughts threaten my existence 

I am much like a storm 

Because if people knew how I felt 

it would make them tense up 

I would inconvenience them 

I can’t hurt anyone because 

I am much like a storm 

I like the way storms eventually calm down

They stop themselves from causing any more mayhem 

I wish I was more like a storm 

I wish I could stop myself from causing any more damage

A WAR WITH THE SCALE

im imperfect, i am flawed 

my feet are hurt, i should have crawled 

i wasn't enough, i didn't amount

I tried my best, it didn't count

no matter how many tears i shed 

or how many nights I went hungry to bed 

i couldn't mask the truth, 

I couldn’t make me new

little girls are broken down

no one ever helps us out

little girls are me and I 

little feelings make me cry

I have been cut in half

I have been crumpled up

I wish I wasnt THAT 

I wish I measured up

The scale wont tell me 

the scale doesn't see 

how much this stupid scale 

has been a burden for thee

STICK IT TO THE MAN

Fair, Free, Fun

Towards the end of the school year in 2014, I learned a life lesson I will never forget: being frugal allows you to appreciate the simple things in life. I figured this out when I visited my best friend/cousin in Lewisburg, West Virginia. The small town was normally quaint and quiet, except for one week every summer when the state fair would take place. There was always terrible traffic, creepy tourists, and crowds of people walking the street. Needless to say, it was overwhelming. 

On the first day when the inevitable fair began, my cousin, McKynlee, and I became extremely agitated. We wanted to go to the mall or the movies, but because of the traffic, we could only get to places on foot. We blamed Jim Justice, the man who practically owns the town. From what I have heard, Jim was a terrible man. He was greedy, wealthy, but worst of all, he lacked organization skills. It was his fault we were stuck with nothing to do and that was when I remembered an old legend I had heard as a child. “Behind the health department, back beneath the trees, there is a fence with a hole in it… this hole is unlike any other hole. This one will lead you to the inside of the state fair.”

McKynlee and I decided to test our luck and we set out on a two mile walk to the health department. Low and behold, we found the hole in the fence beneath the trees. It was big enough for us to step through and we came out on the other side in a slightly wooded area. We managed to push our way through the branches, ducking our heads below the ones at eye level, before 

coming upon the trailer area, where the carnies slept. We hurried pass them, doing ninja crawls when necessary, and before we knew it, we were at the horse track of the fair. From there, we walked up a steep hill and we had successfully made it inside.

Even though it was probably really illegal, we saw it as “sticking it to the man”, that man being Jim Justice. The fair was ridiculously overpriced, costing $20 a day to get into the grounds and $40 for a riding pass. Every year nearly 200,000 people attended the fair, according to WSAZ3 News (WZA3 News). The fair makes approximately 4 millions dollars just in ticket sales alone, yet poverty in West Virginia has remained high, with the number of children living in poverty growing (WV Policy). While West Virginians continue to suffer financially, Jim Justice only gets richer. He is able to afford things like Lionel Richie to sing at his daughter’s wedding and brand, new houses for basketball recruits of the local high school, but he has shown no effort to help his town, even though he is a self-proclaimed billionaire. McKynlee and I refused to pay our way in, even though we could. I didn’t want to be responsible for putting money in this man’s pocket. He could have and should have lowered prices to make it more affordable for everyone in the county, but instead we were to forced to fend for ourselves and find alternative ways in. Our only problem now was, while we were able to walk around, we were not able to ride any rides. 

We hung out with people we knew, talking to familiar faces here and there, before sitting down on a bench near one of the games. The man running it smiled at us. He was older, bald, with missing teeth. He asked us to play his game. We explained our predicament to him, about not having money. “Let me tell you a little secret,” he said in a thick, country accent. “You can 

ride any ride for free, if yer tell ‘em Country sent you.” Presumably, this man went by the name Country, so we took his advice and went to test it out. Sure enough, it was true. 

If we walked up to a ride and said “Country sent us”, the carny would let us on, no hassle. In exchange for their kindness and silence on the matter, we gave them coke… to drink from one of the soda machines. We didn’t think the situation could get any better, until it did. 

Throughout the grounds, laid slot machines. The carnies running them would give people a dollar in quarters as a way to get people to play the machines. McKynlee and I gladly accepted the quarters but did not use them for the game. Instead, we would keep them and gather up as many coins as we could. Pretty soon, it became a game and we would go to the four different slot machines, get money from the carnies and count how much we had. By the end, we had $36.00 worth of quarters. Exhausted, we walked out of the exit and to a nearby Subway, where we paid with the money we had made. The rest was spent on icees and shopping at the mall. 

We had a blast each day of the fair, sneaking in and riding for free. It was such a genius idea, that eventually word got out about the hole in the fence. And by word got out, I mean an angry lady at the health department saw me and McKynlee, and a few random kids, climbing through the hole and called someone to board it up with wooden planks. We discovered this on Friday morning and were baffled. Our plans would be ruined if we couldn't get into the fair because Hunter Hayes was performing that night and McKynlee’s friend could get us in. We walked to the entrance to scope out a way to sneak past the admissions booth, but it was pretty much impossible.

McKynlee and I decided to walk around the side of the 10 ft high metal fence, when I noticed something. A gate that was locked had a small gap underneath. I studied it before realizing I could get under if I tried. I got low to the ground and crawled under the fence. I was inside the fair, just like that. I tried to get McKynlee to then crawl under as well, but she wouldn’t. We were stuck on opposite sides an as I tried to figure out how to get her in, a man yelled, “HEY YOU.” 

I ran and hid in the barn, where people kept their animals they would be showing in auctions, and McKynlee called my cell, telling me to meet her at the exit. I saw her from a distance, standing nonchalantly outside the fence. I walked through the exit, getting my hand stamped on the way out. This meant I could walk back in the fair for free. While the ink was still wet, I grabbed McKynlee’s hand and pressed it against mine. Just like that, we both had the stamp. Back around at the entrance, we got in with no problem. 

Inside, we spent the day riding rides and making more slot machine money. Around six, we headed to the Hunter Hayes concert, where McKynlee’s friend let us in. Somewhere in the midst of chaos, McKynlee’s friend took my phone, taking off the case, before throwing it at Hunter Hayes. I was mortified, not because I was a fan, but because otter boxes are really expensive. After the concert, I asked him for my case back, and he signed it before throwing it to me from the stage. That year for Christmas, I gave the case to McKynlee as a gift. Not because I thought she wanted it, but because I didn’t want to get her a present. 

The moral of the story is sometimes being frugal can work out in your favor. In other words, you don’t have to spend a dime to have a great time!

Works Cited

http://www.wsaz.com/home/headlines/9894697.html 

http://www.wvpolicy.org/number-of-poor-west-virginians-remains-high-increase-in-children-living-in-poverty 

IS BLACK LIVES MATTER A GOOD MOVEMENT?



My heart grows heavy as I continue to see the violence and disconnect between Americans of different backgrounds. Sometimes I get so drained and exhausted from keeping up with current events, I actually turn my phone off for days at a time in order to avoid anymore emotional distress.

Recently, with police brutality and the "BLACK LIVES MATTER" movement, I have seen some very beautiful moments of white and black people coming together, as well as some not so nice moments.

For example, a black teen and a white teen who were complete strangers, went to a protest and ended up becoming friends, holding signs together to signify their unity. After all, we are all the same. We are all human and we are all equal.

Another example of something beautiful-- citizens standing in front of officers in order to dissuade anyone from shooting them... Which gets me on to the not so beautiful points.

People have been shooting innocent, kind-hearted cops in the name of this movement. In all honesty, it really just dirties the name. You cannot protest unjust violence with more unjust violence.

There will always be corrupt officers. Just as there will always be corrupt people- corrupt government, corrupt business owners, corrupt military officials, corrupt teachers. People are innately bad. This is undebatable. However, we have the choice as to whether or not we want to be clumped into this group of evil people.

Hurting others is wrong. It will never be right. I'm not trying to take a stance on whether the cops should have used deadly forced in recent cases or whether they should be prosecuted. That is not for us to decide. It is for the justice system. Only you can choose how you handle yourself. You should do it in the name of good.

AN ODE TO MY MOTHER

My mother deserves a lot of praise. 

She taught me right from wrong,

And how to be brave.

She has always encouraged me, And pushed me to be better.

For that I am forever grateful,

That’s why I wrote this letter.

                                                                  Dear Mom, 

You deserve the world. 

You made me independent and kind, 

And into a smart, strong, sensual girl. 

You gave me confidence and the tools to succeed. 

You told me I could do or be anything. 

From you I received courage, 

You’ve always been my number one fan. 

You are supportive and wise, 

I hope this you understand. 

For my 18th birthday, 

I knew the first thing I wanted to do 

Was to get a tattoo. 

A moon to match your sun,

so that every time I looked at it, 

I thought of you. 

You love passionately and care for others, 

I greatly admire your selflessness. 

From working full time to raising four kids, 

it is evident my brothers and I are truly blessed. 

You have sacrificed so much for us 

And we have been through a lot. 

From losing our childhood home to my chronic illness, 

You have remained my rock. 

We are so alike, so we fight all the time, 

but this doesn’t mean I won’t be your partner in crime. 

Thank you for all you do,

You are more than a mom to me. 

You are a friend and a mentor, 

everything I aspire to be.