I have yet to inform you lovelies that I have received my dream job of interning at the local arts center. Let it be noted that I worked my ass off beforehand as a volunteer, but now I’m getting paid for it! Awesome, right?
One of the perks of working here is that the people I work with are surprisingly hilarious. They’re all much older than I am, but they connect with me.
My first day, Carol, an office worker, informed me that lunch is the most serious time of the day. “I wake up for lunch, Kacy. We take it very seriously in this building,” she said with the a killer stare.
The point of this post is to propose a question. (ALLITERATION) Would you, as a reader, enjoy a series of Life of the Intern on this blog?
Summer is quickly coming to an end, but that’s okay. My last year of high school is coming at me like I’m holding a red flag. Toro! Toro!
That actually means Mexican fighting bull. They’re literally calling the bull. If someone is insane enough to call a raging bull towards them, I can welcome the end of summer with open arms.
Keep an open mind and may your end of summer bring you the same comfort as mine.
Your hometown. Your birthplace. You’ve lived here all of your life.
If you’ve been living under a rock, Arkansas passed a law banning abortion-a subject everyone has an opinion on, and if they don’t, they’re satanists. Can we sit and talk about this for a moment?
Hypothetical: You get raped. You get pregnant. What do you do? Do you keep this child knowing that it was made under the worst of occasions and that it won’t have a father?
Killing a child simply because you don’t want to have it is immoral, yes, but keeping a child that was forced upon you isn’t the happiest lifestyle either.
You could say I qualify on their decision.
Teenagers all fight the cliche. The cliche takes over. They complain. This is how teenagerdom works. Why do I chose this to be my first blog post? Well, we all have parents. This is fact. And my parents seem to be as different from any other parents as they can be. Sure, all teenagers say this, but hear me out. My mother was raised in a small town and has a very pessimistic view on life. My father was also raised in a small town and is even more pessimistic than my mother. Never have I met, nonetheless been raised by, such close-minded concrete people. In this, concrete has a negative connotation. As in, “hard as the ground upon which you walk” rather than “stable and knowing.”
Example: The other day I mentioned to my father that I wanted to build a blanket fort. He becomes angered, and when questioned about it, he replies with the question of “What are you going to do in a blanket fort?” I know my father very well. This question was waning into that area that we don’t discuss with parents, the one mine are far too open about.
Conclusion: Blanket forts are sex palaces now. This has been my first blog post. Thank you and goodnight.