Finally Adjusting!

There are moments where I have this unnerving wave of, “Oh my god, I’m in LONDON” and everything crashes over me at once. Today I had one of those moments. I was riding the tube in alone to class and sitting there alone, listening to music, watching people hurry on and off, I felt like I was far away. With my phone, I feel tethered to my real life back at home. But, for some reason, I had this surge of the reality of the distance and time. I’m really far away. Like, really far away. I’m here for a long time.*

I’m getting better, though! I feel a lot more confident. I have a system and structure. I’m exploring a lot of this city, both on my own time, but also with classes on field excursions.

I’m realizing I’ve set my standards high. I’ve been obsessed with London for as long as I can honestly remember. Absolutely enthralled with the culture, the people, the longed ambiance… and I’m realizing it’s really not all that. Now, it could be I just haven’t fully immersed myself in this city… or 8-year-old Abby was looking at a canted angle.

London is one of the most romanticized cities in the world. It’s beautiful, it’s breathtaking, it’s unbelievable… but so is Pittsburgh. I’ve learned the value of home after being here. I want American food. I’m a picky eater… way pickier than I thought. And it’s not me being materialistic, which I think is how it’s coming across to a lot of people… I just want mac and cheese, man. And sandwiches without mayo. Or tomatoes. Or tuna. Sure, I’m clumping “food” with, like, Sainsbury’s and Tesco take away **. But… I don’t know. I wish I were more adventurous with food. But, I wish I realized how much I loved home before I came here.

But maybe that’s good. Maybe it’s good that I realized I love being near my family and I need to be close. I love talking to my mom multiple times a day. Honestly… I love being American. I don’t know where this overwhelming pride of being an American came from but here we are. I love the States… 15-year-old me is gagging.

I’ve been to many cool places! Bath… Stonehenge… Camden… Shoreditch… I’m happy our program implements both many weekend excursions, but also in-class ones.

I’m finally getting into the swing of London… we’re finding out how to save money… where to go…  how to relax but also do a lot. I didn’t realize how overwhelming it is to study abroad. There’s several times a week where I’m like, “WHAT did I get myself INTO?”

I’ve actually learned several things about myself. The list as follows:

1. Pittsburgh is a dope (translation for old folks: cool) city. I love you, Pittsburgh.

2. I am very clingy to my parents. I’m basically a baby monkey hanging from my mother’s neck. This is fact.

3. I’m really bad at crossing streets. I may have almost been hit by double decker busses multiple times… sorry, mom and dad… but pedestrians don’t have the right of way here and I go to school in Oakland where we RUN those streets, am I right ladies!

4. I love mac and cheese.

5. I love the city… but maybe not constantly being in the city. I need a nice tree or bird chirp or sliver of grass here and there to stay sane and not have the constant paranoia I am in the way of a really expensive looking businessman or a car.

6. Constant social interaction is not ideal. Maybe I’m not as extroverted as I thought.

7. I’m obsessed with my phone… but I definitely already knew this about myself.

I hope none of this comes off as ungrateful or whiny or annoying or whatever. Hey, you clicked the link! I am so beyond grateful that my parents are able to give me the opportunities I have had and continue to have. I don’t regret coming here in the slightest. But there are bits and pieces that haven’t fully slotted together and meshed with the rest of me yet.

But! Luckily the parentals will be dropping in to good ‘ol Londontown in a month’s time (hooray!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and I also found a store today called… wait for it… THE AMERICAN FOOD STORE… and I spent way too much money on two boxes of Annie’s mac and cheese, but HOLY HELL, was I craving it.

I’m meeting a lot of cool people and doing a lot of cool things so! London’s pretty cool.

I’m leaving for PARIS tomorrow morning… yeah…. Paris. How cool?!

But just wanted to let everyone know I’m adjusting (and not crying as much, lol) and also I’m alive and also I’m having fun and also still love over-sharing about my life!!

Okay, I want a Walker’s cookie right now (shortbread, buttery sliver of HEAVEN)

Bye for now!

Xoxo

A

* far and long relative

** American translation: Giant Eagle pre-made sandwiches

Settling

Hi. I'm in London? I'm sitting on my comfortably worn brown couch that's only really scratchy if you put your skin on it. My friend Luke (our neighbor) is stretched across the next one, lounging as Dad Cat. My roommate Ashley is sitting next to me, engrossed in a novel. My other roommate Chelsea is propped against the heater, sipping a cider, and chatting on Facebook. Tara, our other roommate is somewhere in our "flat" (read: tiny living environment, way too small for 5 people.)And Lexi, is updating her blog.

So, yeah, I've finally made it. I've said for as long as I can remember that I wanted to study abroad, and specifically London. After throwing away my life to Harry Potter at that fetal age of 8, I knew I wanted to go to London.

I'm sitting here trying to summarize my almost week here, and it's hard to encompass it all. I've been at the highest and lowest. The day I left, leaving my parents was by far one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. The few days leading up, I was incredibly unstable. The littlest things were setting me off. From my dog sitting next to me with his head on my leg, to my mom's warming hugs, I just wanted to take everything from home and plop it down in London. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't regretting my decision to come here. To put it simply, I was terrified of change. I used to think that I was a person who longed change and loved being away from home... but change meant changing my sheets, and being away from home means, like, Indiana... or New York City... all 4 hour plane rides top away from home.

Leaving, I composed myself after going through security (read: I hyperventilated while sobbing as I hugged my parents goodbye.) The whole flight situation was all messed up... between our original flight getting cancelled, to them moving us into an earlier flight... we finally reached Chicago. We had about 20 minutes to regroup and eat something before we got on our plane to London. La de da, 9 hours later, I was staring out the window to England countrysides and the London Eye.

After navigating RIDICULOUSLY heavy luggage to the train... then to a cab... we finally reached our flat. And I was exhausted. Another Abby Lesson was in order -- I used to think I can handle exhaustion and limited sleep well... Oh, how I was mistaken. I wasn't my normal self. Without having 3G, my phone was useless. I just wanted to call my mom. I was on the brink of crying in a Starbucks. The WiFi in my flat is unbearably slow, and I can't pick up a strong feed in my room.

Finally, finally, after a crying session in my kitchen to my mother (Skype premium plan is a godsent) and a pub visit (across the street!) with my roommates, we called it a night. I called my parents and said goodnight and went to bed. And then, I woke up at 2 AM without being able to sleep in the slightest. The mattress, springs piercing my back, was unbearable. My pillows, unshapely and shedding, were leaving kinks in my neck. I couldn't take it. I started crying. I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad. I wanted to be home. I just wanted to see my dog and make stupid jokes with Emily, and Danielle, and Lauren and everyone at home. I hated it. I hated it so much.

I went out into the living room, called my mom, and LOST it. Long story short, after a babbling, ugly crying session later, I calmed down.

I'm gonna skip around here. But yeah, I'm okay now. A lot better! I needed sleep and food and better bedding (I had to buy pillows, I'm sleeping on my comforter, and I bought 2 new blankets... ew.) I've toured so much of London. I've walked literal miles upon miles. I've figured out an entirely new transportation system. Then finally today, I had my first class, a film class and I'm feeling really good about it. I bought a British SIM card so I have 3G. I've accepted that I need to be tethered to my "real" world. I need to be able to text my friends at home at beck and call. I need to be able to call my mom when I'm walking down the street. I just need that. And that's okay.

I've learned a LOT about myself in these past few days. I feel stronger and better and more excited about this semester now that I've settled.

WOW, lots of emotion. Also, apparently using this blog again. And also, this was such a blah, downer post. LONDON IS COOL AS HECK. It's SO big and busy and overwhelming and scary and awesome. Every corner of this city is nestled with a bite of history. You can be looking at a building that your great, great, great, great (x10) grandfather walked into and spin around and be staring at your reflection in a swanky, glass, modern office building. It's consantly bustling and the city ebbs and flows and spills out everywhere. It's mass mayhem. And it's incredible.

I can't wait to sink into this city and blend into its stitches seamlessly. I miss home. I miss my parents. I miss my friends and dog and hamburgers and mac and cheese and my coffee pot. But, I'm excited to fully embrace London.

London's calling.

Paper is ruining my life

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH can basically sum up my entire thought-process for 2014.

I'm at that age where decisions are kinda-sorta having to be made, and classes kinda-sorta need to start going together and money kinda-sorta needs to be, like, saved. WHYYYYY.

Why is money a thing? Better yet, why do we center our lives around PAPER? Real talk: All money is, IS PAPER. WE ARE DEPENDENT. ON PAPER.

So I want to go to a few places that I can't go to (read: Governors Ball.) I'm planning* to study abroad for my Spring 2015 semester, so money is needed for that. But I want to do fun things NOW! Like concerts. Or spending way too much money on fancy... candles.

I'm kinda caught in a weird place between sorta-teenager and sorta-adult. Being 19, I still have important things I need to, like, make sure I'm feeding myself and bathing, but my apartment, education, and all that other important stuff is paid for by my parents. Studying abroad is paid by them, but not spending money. So, as you can see, the fun things come down to my bank account... aaaaaaaand I'm unemployed. The joys of life! Ah.

This weekend I went to NYC for my first time ever. Yeah, ever. It was amazing, wonderful, exhilarating, everything I thought it'd be, etc. etc. And I realized -- yeah, I'm going to live here probably sometime in my life. Probably, like in the foreseeable future. And yes, that's exciting, and yes that's wonderful but I need a lot of freaking PAPER -- of the money variety.

Sidebar: Here's me throwing myself against the 30 Rock wall because emotions.

Life is actually really, really scary. I'm not going to lie, I'm actually terrified of what's going to happen to me after a graduate. I'm sure EVERYONE is, though. I've invested myself in such a fast-paced and paradoxical environment of constant change, I don't know WHAT the Internet industry is going to be like after I graduate. 

Hopefully I can score a really, really cool job in either NYC, LA, London, Somewhere Other Than The Small City of Pittsburgh, or maybe I'll be famous for being myself. That'd be pretty cool.

My parents always tell me I need to stay focused and realize that I need to consider I might never move from Pittsburgh, I might never "make it," I might never be as successful as I want to be. And yes, I get this. But I'm tired of living in the "well, you might"s. Because, quite frankly, they're getting me really down.

I'm going to live in my Internet bubble of social media and video making and reblogging pictures of stupid trees because that's what I like and I want to do what I like regardless of the monetary gain or loss. I'm not tying myself to a tree -- literally. I'm not going to keep stopping myself because of money. Sure, I can't do everything I want to do, like, say drop everything and fly to a different country cause I definitely don't have the funds to singularly do that.

But anyways, this is a really longwinded way of saying that I'm going to start changing my life and do more Internet things featuring italics and be more healthy and happier and screw New Years Resolutions, I'm all about January 22 resolutions.

So, yeah, let's be awesome?

A

* If I get accepted and such**

** I will cry if I don't get accepted. Like, probably until I die. I will cry until I die.

8tracks playlist recommendation

Song recommendation

2:28 AM

I’ve been struggling with the idea of self-functionality lately. I’m trapped in the enigmatic state of wanting to be and being. Consistently in the back of my mind, I have this voice saying Is that what you’re supposed to be doing? I’m trapped between wanting to follow this ambiguous “path” that every college student is to set out and find. But it’s hard to discern path fidelity.

I’ve grown up in a home where expectations are set high. Grades? Set high. Success? Set high. Knowledge consumption? Set high. It wasn’t a detrimental factor, quite the opposite. I’ve grown up challenging myself. Wanting to be beyond. To reach that next step.

I’m constantly faced with the crippling fear of reality and aging. At some point I’m going to have to sober up — to encounter life in it’s full and slink around the snapping, sharp fangs of disappointment, rejection, fear, failure. Life is moving. It’s twisting and spiraling and linking people and places together, holding them in place. I don’t want to be held in place.

Lately, I’ve found myself working and working towards a class and seeing no success in it. I’m struggling. I’ve tried to fix it. I failed. I’ve sought help. It was to no avail. I keep trying to tell myself that in the long run, it’s not going to matter. In the long run, this  one class, this one semester, this one year, is going to be told as a bitter horror story while I’m nursing a martini, sloshing it over my hand, sharing Tales of College Past at a bar with my co-workers down the street of some job I’ll hold at some point in my life. Isn’t that how life goes?

I feel like I’m constantly working. Whether it be physically or mentally, my brain literally cannot stop. I wish I was one of those people who can sit down and just be. But sitting for even five minutes sends my brain into overdrive of what needs done, what will need to be done, when will it need to be done. I’m never stopping. I’m constantly worried about letters.

In reality, that’s what education is anymore. A letter. A dumb, pointless, irrelevant letter of the alphabet, saying if you did what they expected. If you performed how they wanted you to perform. I’m finding as I get older that grades are becoming more and more irrelevant.

Education is important. Knowledge is necessary. I have a lust to learn and improve. To take something and make it better. But I see the world less as a grade and more of an experience. I’m taking in advice and criticism and tweaking it for the next time. I’m swallowing my pride and accepting help, even when I don’t think I need it. Because I’ve reached the point where people’s guileless comments aren’t as damaging anymore.

We’re all pitted against each other. In a way, college is like a poetically tortured metaphor of David and Goliath. We’re all Davids. And we’re all Goliaths. It’s as if we’re skirting around the other, to gauge how they’re doing, to see if we’ve done better or worse. We’re basing our viewpoints against each other. Mentally, we’re destroying each other. Wanting to be better. Wanting to be the victor. 

I’m tired. I’m tired of wanting to prove myself. I’m tired of living in a state of ambiguity that is directionless but pragmatic. I want to fast forward but I want to slow down. I’m trapped in a liminal state of transgression.

Mentally, I’m exhausted. But my brain is constantly winding, constantly turning and spinning and creating. And I love it. I love the drive and need to succeed. But sometimes, I just need to shut down. To relax. To breath. I need to stop being and just be.

Body Image, Body Shaming, Western Culture Sucks, etc.

Once upon a time I wrote a blogpost about body image and poured my heart and soul into it. And I got a lot of positive feedback and a lot of people benefited from it. THEN I DELETED IT. 

Today I joined a gym. This wasn’t some life-changing, “I’m starting off on the right foot” kinda deal, because during school I worked out 6 days a week. However, for the first time in my life I was surrounded by people much older than me -- I was the minority! At high school, we received this massive grant when I was in, like, 7^th grade (I think) and they put in a gym in our school. It was crowded and sweaty and 9/10 the machines were always broken and some people would just go down there and sit, occasionally lifting a leg or flailing an arm like, “Look guys!  Physical activity.” And a college gym is just a bunch of college kids who grunt and use shifty eye movements to communicate with each other. But this time was different.

Planet Fitness is a really cool place. Not only are their machines reaaaal nice, but they’re also extremely body positive. I toured the gym when I signed up with a worker and he told me that they strive to have all members to adhere by their ‘No judgement’ rule. At first I laughed it off, like, “Okay. It’s a gym.” But then I felt like an idiot. I was surrounded by people who were at all different stages on their weight loss journey. And it is so brave to do that. I really respect Planet Fitness for how hard they’re working to make people feel welcomed -- like they belong.

Body Image has become so westernized that across the board, girls are trying to look like that. “I want a stomach like that.” “I want thighs like that.” “Why don’t my hips look like that.” I hate THAT. It’s been a long, tiring uphill battle for me and body image and the word THAT is ripped from my personal dictionary.

In April/May alone I’m guessing I’ve gained about 10 pounds. 14-year-old Abby would absolutely have lost  it. I would have ran 7 miles a day, ate only salads, never even glanced near junk food. Then I would tired myself out and run out of energy come day 4 and then binge. And then cry. And then repeat. However 18-year-old Abby is EMBRACING it. I’ve let myself go after finish school and I’ve recognized that. And now I’m taking action

I’m not going to lie, this journey wasn’t made by “faith in myself.” Sure, it helped, but I’m definitely not strong enough to ignore all of society. My mom obviously helped me, but it was mainly pop culture icons embracing their body that helped me the most. The two that come to mind for me personally is Demi Lovato and Jennifer Lawrence.

I’ve already talked about Demi in an older post and I stand by everything I said. Jennifer Lawrence doesn’t even need an introduction.  But just in case you live under a rock, Jennifer Lawrence is an American actress known for her goofy one-liners, laid-back attitude, but most importantly, on taking a stand against body shaming. She is an athletic build. And Hollywood has the audacity to call her fat. What scares me is that I have an athletic build. I have muscular legs and arms and instead of losing weight, I gain muscle. So to read that Jennifer Lawrence is fat, is enough to knock someone down a few rungs.

Who cares. Who cares what the media says. Who cares what society thinks. It’s hard to ignore all that pressure that just builds and builds and builds. I know. The billboards, the commercials. Every celebrity you’ve ever loved has been involved with some very thin, tanned, legs for days model. Then you feel like crap. You feel like you’ll never be as beautiful as someone like that. Then you feel bad for yourself. I know. But who cares about what other people are doing? Hint: Not you. Answer: No one.

Here’s my advice -- 1. stop looking at sizes. In my closet right now I have sizes 9, 7, 6, and 4 in pants. They all fit the same. But yet their range is extremely high. Clothes are being made smaller and smaller. I know it really hurts to have to go up a size, but why buy something that doesn’t fit, looks extremely unflattering on you, and will only shrink in the wash to make you feel better. It sucks, I know, but it’s not worth it.; 2. Be healthier. You can mope and whine and point to models in Seventeen all you want, but nothing is going to happen unless you cleanse your body. Eat fruits. Eat vegetables. Don’t drink pop.  Cut down on sugary foods and processed foods. Get 30 minutes of exercise a day in. There. That’s it. That’s all you need to do. You don’t need to go overboard. A healthy lifestyle comes with hard work and determination. Not starving yourself. (That's a WHOLE different post for me.) 3. ‘Skinny’ doesn’t mean healthy and ‘fat’ doesn’t mean unhealthy. Body shaming goes both ways. Be kind to others with your words.

I know how hard it is to accept your body. I know how much of a struggle it is to look in the mirror and not be happy with the person you see. It sucks. It really, really, really sucks. But nothing is going to get better unless you take the change to being happier and healthier. Your body is yours and no one else's. You need to take care of it. 

Be happy, be strong, be confident.

But most of all,

Be beautiful.

Xx
A

THE ULTIMATE PRIZE

Okay, so, did you ever hear of Radio Disney? Duh. Well, I used to be a GIANT Disney Channel freak. I mean this was a serious addiction. I fawned over all the Disney queens: Raven, Hilary, Tia and Tamara--they were the original divas. (I still fawn over said Divas. As well as the current Divas, i.e. Miley, Selena, Demi, etc. I CAN'T HELP IT.) Well, I listened to Radio Disney constantly and the life goal of 8-year-old Abby was to win the Ultimate Prize. Well, that's what I called it. I'm sure it was actually named something like, "RADIO DISNEY'S AWESOME ROCKIN' FUNTASTICALLY COOL SUMMER TOYFEST KALABOOMPALOOZA WITH ERNIE D."

But one prize, the Ultimate Prize, was a driving hunger in me. I lusted after it. Needed it. Ever ounce of me knew that the prize belonged with me. I would be able to do anything if I won that Ultimate Prize. I contemplated the things an 8-year-old could accomplish with the Ultimate Prize. Anything. Feed a million dogs, grow a Hippolephant (Hippo/elepephant. Can you imagine the size of that thing?) The world was mine for the taking with the Ultimate Prize. What was it you ask? The Ultimate prize was 10 minutes to throw as much as your grubby child hands can grab into a cart. And it was all yours.

THINK ABOUT IT. You have TEN MINUTES in Toys R Us to grab WHATEVER you want! Find a child who doesn't want that, and I will call them a loser. (Well... maybe not, I'm Abby Stubenbort not Abby Lee Miller) I would want that prize NOW. I literally had dreams about that prize. It's all I wanted.

I had a system for how it would operate. It would be conducted in a series of five stages, each stage pertaining to a different section of the store. I would have an army of helpers (breaking the rules because I'm Abby Stubenbort) to help me along the way and accomplish things I couldn't do, such as pushing carts, using grown-up legs to walk faster, using longer arms to reach things 8-year-old Abby (or 18-year-old Abby) couldn't reach.

Stage one was adjusted to how Toys R Us was when I was a child. When you first walked in, to the immediate right was the plush animal section. This was young Abby's favorite part of the store. I gazed longingly at all the cuddly toys, wanting to be squeezed and fluffed by me. One in particular I had my hazel orbs locked on was that giant pink unicorn with the sparkly collar. This thing was gigantic. I could probably lay across it now comfortably. Granted, that's not saying much. Every time we went to Toys R Us I had to go stroke its soft, silky fur and intertwine my fingers through its full mane. Then my mom would be all, "ABIGAIL," and I'd be all, "Oh my god, mom, you're cramping my swag," and storm away.*

The second stage was the outdoor toys section. When I was a kid, I think my parents thought I secretly belonged to a wolf pack because I was never inside. I woke up at 8 in the morning and went outside, came in only when I had to use the bathroom and when I thought I was going to topple over from lack of food. Within the small section of my street, there were about 10 kids, and my neighbor was a baby-sitter. Our kickball games were ACTUALLY THE BEST (except when they would get stuck in the trees and I'd try to climb a tree to get the ball but actually only made it up the massive trunk 4 inches from the ground.) Moving on, back to relevance, the outdoor section was located just past the superhero section adjacent to the plush animals. I would hit there and instruct my minions to gather only the biggest, and baddest of water guns, the most expensive of chalk, and please, no generic scooters--only Razor would get the job done.

Stage three is where things got a bit more tricky. If you traveled further north up the store, you began to run into Babies R Us, and the arts and crafts part of the store. Since I was not a baby, and to this day cannot cut in a straight line, I had to throw the operation into reverse, and start backwards again. I had to cut to the right, just before the super hero section, because that took me to an aisle that led me straight to Bratz Doll paradise. After reaching the destination, it was much easier: The packaging of the dolls were bulky and able to be grabbed in an abundance, therefore, one quick sweep of my arm down the row into the cart would successfully complete stage three.

Stage four was my favorite stage, aside from my stuffed animalgasm. Here be dragons. No, really. There were dragons right here because we have reached the video game section. This area was parallel to the dolls, so I planned it just right. I only needed the Playstation and GameBoy Advance section, so I did not have to venture far into the aisles. However, in order to achieve maximum game retrieving, I had to put my army to work, but of course they could not help me out fully, because they don't know what games I wanted. So I made of things that I wanted and I not want.

1. Anything with animals. That you don't kill

2. Spyro, Crash Bandicoot, and Mario were always okay.

3. No blood, because ew.

4. No boring games where you have to do a tutorial. WHO HAS THAT KIND OF TIME?

5. Nothing with cars, except racing games. But only Mario.

6. If the case was pink, it was an automatic buy.

7. If the case had camoflouge, even if it followed an aforementioned rule, it had to be replaced.

8. No doll games. I had physical dolls.

9. No games where they don't speak English. (Too young for Simlish. That stage comes at pre-teen)

10. and finally, no Tetris.

Once this list was observed and scrutinized (beforehand, of course) stage four would commence properly.

Stage five was the final countdown. I needed to swing the ship around, and bring it back up north, near the front of the store. Right in front of the cash registers was the candy section. Here, young children could hack and gnaw at a variety of sugar laden treats that would ensure their wearing of braces in their early teen years. Depending on how much time was left, this part could have failed, or been a huge success. This part was simple. I would start singscreaming Aaron Carter's (what a dreamboat he was in that Lizzie McGuire episode) hit song, "I WANT CANDY" and they would start swarming around me, tossing candy bags haphazardly into the car. All candy was acceptable except the gummy tarantulas. WHO would eat those? The rules of the prize was that you had to report back at the doors when 10 minutes were up, so with 5 seconds remaining, we'd bolt to the doors, roughly 50 meters in front of us, and I'd climb on top of my toy mountain, perching like the demon princess child I was.

I was trapped in such a delusional idea that this was the ticket to my happiness. I called the station an irrational amount of time, and helplessly, I wrote to Raven on her section of the Disney Channel site, seeing if she could help a sister out. I guess she didn't see it in my future, because A. homegirl never wrote me back, and B. I never won. I sulked for minutes every time a winner was announced. Stupid Ernie D.

And you know what, 18-year-old Abby would love the same prize.

So, this is my call to you, Toys R Us. Let this big, bad teenager come play with you for a bit.

You'll never be the same.

Stay beautiful.

xx

A

*this was ten years ago so please don't thing dialogue is verbatim. 

(this was an edited repost from a blogpost I wrote 2 years ago)

Demi is everything and everything is Demi

Remember that one time when I said, "I don’t want to say ‘idol’ because idolization can become extremely dangerous and 90% of the time people aren’t aiming to be ‘idolized." Yeah, that wasn't pertaining to Demi Lovato. I LOVE DEMI LOVATO. Like a lot

So way, way back many centuries ago (2008) I was absolutely in LOVE with the Jonas Brothers. Yada, yada, yada, team jonas, yada. So they announced their opening act was going to be Demi Lovato. This was BEFORE Camp Rock came out. So, I was all, "Anything the Jonas Brothers say is scripture so I need to eat, sleep, and breath this girl." I found out she was the girl from the short-lived mini-series As the Bell Rings. Remember precious baby Demi with a gap? :')

Long story short, I FELL IN LOVE WITH DEMI LOVATO. At their Burning Up Tour, I literally LOST MY CRAP when she came on stage. I was, like, one out of maybe 200 that knew who she was so I was JAMMIN'. I cried. I actually burst out in to tears. (But that tends to happen at any concert I go to. Then again, the only concerts I've gone to have been concerts of people that I'm 'in love with.' Then again, I'm in love with everyone.) ANYWAYS, Demi sang, I cried, it was a great night. 

I could have met her but NO, 14-year-old Abby had to go to school the next day and my parents had to go to work. Ugh, the struggle was real those early teen days. I also cried because I couldn't meet her. But then again, I was on post-concert high. And I needed water like Amanda Bynes needs to put a shirt on. (desperately.) 

Flash forward to today. She released her album on her website/YouTube. A listen before ya buy kinda marketing strategy. And as per usual, I LOVED IT. I personally thought it was a lot better than her Junior album. I liked her first two, but the last one lacked... something. This one however is super raw, super real, and super relevant. It combines her beautiful piano ballads with some Rhianna-esque synthesized beats PERFECTLY. Also, CHER LLOYD is on a track. I get two of my queens for the PRICE OF ONE.

But I don't want to talk about Demi's music itself. I want to talk about Demi.  You know, being a teenage girl, especially in Western culture,  it's so easy to just tear yourself to shreds without anyone even batting an eye. I've struggled heaps amount with body image and weight and hair and eyes and skin and complexion and markings on my body and cuticles and hands and every single little thing you can nitpick. But Demi Lovato flawlessly leads the young female generation with a high head and fabulous confidence.

When I heard about Demi's enter to rehab, I was literally shocked. I was pushing away all of those horrible rumors that were swirling around the dust of all those sketchy celebrity gossip sites, simply because I didn't want to find a flaw in her. Not that what she went through was a flaw. But, remember when I said idolization was dangerous? Yeah, it is. This is why. You have this perfect image of the idolizee and you don't want to soil it. So when she reached her lowest point, it was kinda like losing a piece of you. Which sounds crazy, absolutely mental but if you've ever had a true idol, you can relate. If not, I swear I'm sane. Well, most of the time.

Demi has gone through so much. It takes a seriously strong person to be able to pick herself up off the ground and start over. And the fact that she was about my age now when all of this happened to her is insane. "A little girl who grew up too fast," is a line from her song Warrior (a song I cried over. I swear I don't cry this much, but apparently in this blog, I cry over everything.) Fame happens in a blink of an eye. Suddenly, you're thrust into the limelight and there's no where to hide. That's why I feel for celebrities. People may call me crazy because they have everything 'handed to them' but they lose their life. Their privacy. Everything. They were never asked to be rolemodels. They're forced. They shouldn't have to be a role model for your 12-year-old. But Demi took on that responsibility  and I admire her so much for that.

She doesn't just have the talent. She has the personality. She has the strength  I admire her so deeply not only as an artist, but as a female living in this body-shaming society, as well as a human. 

I thank Demi for being such a positive influence on my life. For telling me that it's okay to be curvy. It's okay to have low points in life. Because we all are warriors.

I'm looking forward to May 14th when her new album "DEMI" drops, and I will most definitely shove it into the faces of everyone just so they KNOW, Demi Lovato is everything and everything is Demi Lovato.

Stay Beautiful

xx

A

(PS, the album is seriously freaking great and I think ALL OF Y'ALL should listen to it. Really Don't Care is my JAM.)