GEEK
My dad got me a diary for my birthday last week, claiming he’d been inspired to after reading Dork diaries. I didn’t bother to ask him WHY he still read +8 books though. My dad’s weird like that.
What do people actually do with diaries, though? Like, do they write things in them? Like, their feelings and struggles and all that sappy stuff? I’ve been pondering this for hours now, and all I’ve got are some random thoughts about how much I really like pizza and how I forgot to take my laundry out of the dryer for the third day in a row. But, like, that’s not exactly Pulitzer-winning material, right? Or do I just make up a perfect life for myself? The archetype (note from my usage of words NO ONE ever uses and tell my true self!) pretty blonde girl next door with the perfect boyfriend, decent “ wonder twins”, and A normal, non-girl-diary-book-reading dad who actually has his brain cells intact and isn’t constantly one step away from setting the house on fire while playing ‘Fireman Sam'. You see, dad thinks he’s the Chosen One just because they share the same name. If I were that poor guy, I’d change my name to ‘Fireman I’m-DEFINITELY-Not-Sam’ or ‘Fireman Please-Don’t-Burn-Down-the-House’ — because honestly, it’s like living with a walking, talking fire hazard with delusions of grandeur. Like, dude, you’re not the hero of every emergency; you’re the one who needs to be rescued from himself!
But what can I say? Where people have it hard, I have it harder. And considering my poor sense of style or non-existent radar of such sort, I’m lucky I still have my trusty bestie, Tori Beckman who’s shaped like a supermodel and the human equivalent of Gal Gadot. Only that in the place of the lasso of truth and the sword of Athena, she’s got the Gucci of shoes and wardrobe of Chanel.
Writing this, I’m currently staring at my reflection and watching it stare back at me, probably wondering how on earth it got stuck with me out of the world’s 8.25 billion people.
And I don’t know that because I have a world facts book.
Or an encyclopedia.
Or both.
Thing is, staring at myself and watching myself stare back at me through the mirror’s got me re-thinking the equality of life.
Like why I can’t reach at least the top of the mirror so I can literally see lots of my ceiling more than myself even when dad’s re-attached it a bit lower.
Or why I don’t have a single bone of fashion in my blood. Call it genes or whatever but it’s definitely cheated me out on fashion.
That’s because I’m wearing my puke green cargo pants with more patches than fabric, a multi-colored shirt with geek scribbled across the back and a denim jacket to cover my shame. With even more shame.
And that’s not because they’re the only clean things I could salvage from my laundry basket. My laundry basket is practically my wardrobe cause most of my clothes are almost always there. I just have a motto. I mean, why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?- which is why my laundry has been in the to-do pile for two weeks.
Right now, I’m beginning to realize that I’ve got the wrongest motto ever.
I’m just waiting and DREADING taking a walk out of my room in this. It’ll be like the epic ‘alien dork lands planet earth’ moment.
Just hoping Tori still remembers me even then.
So, lets get this straight down cause speaking to you like some Phantom of the opera ghost’s creeping me out. I’m Daisy. Daisy Thompson. And I’m a geek. Ok… hold on, scratch that. That came out sounding like a line from Geek girl, not that I’ve re-read the entire series ten times and know the word count of every single chapter and can quote Harriet manners word for word. That was a pretty bad start at introducing myself. I can do better right?
Ok. I’m Daisy Thompson and ignore the fact that I’m named after a flower. Dad claims it was a sudden wave of ‘inspiration’. I just think he was too cranked up to think of something that he just went to our flower garden and picked out the first flower he could spot. Thank cookie crumbles it hadn’t been a chrysanthemum. Good luck trying to binge-say that.
So this is me, plain Jane Daisy. All skin and bones and don’t even get me started on my hair, something that dad likes to call a ‘hybrid’ between strawberry blonde, ginger and auburn. So when people ask, I like to call myself a strawberry burned ginger. Creative hunh? Plus, I’ve got freckles like stars and considering the fact that there are approximately 100–400 billion stars on our galaxy alone, that’s saying a whole lot. The only thing nice and surprisingly normal about me are my eyes. They’re, thankfully a sharp emerald green with a tint of grey. If there’s anything my mom’s done for me, its my eyes. Just take a look at my dad’s and you’ll know why.
On a normal un-about-to-freak-out day, I usually don’t bother on how I look cause I never do. My fashion radar’s practically non-existent. But then this is SUPER important to Tori, my best friend on the entire planet and fashion queen/model expert. Yeah, fashion queen. This is the case where the opposites attract theory’s proven hands down. Tori and I are total opposites. She’s popular, beautiful-eternally beautiful- funny and outgoing, all of which I’m obviously the opposite of. But that doesn’t change a thing. Considering the fact that she stills hangs out with me and has never called me a geek.
Yet.
But looking at how HORRIBLY dressed I am, that is definitely about to change.
“ Daisy! Daisy are you ready?!” Yikes! Its Tori? Already? She’s never early to anything. Never. She likes to say being late is an essential streak of every A-list fashionista.
Just great universe. The best time to make Tori re-think HER own motto.
“ Daisy are you done yet?” Her feet pounded its way through the stairs till I could hear her knocking on my door. I stared at the window and my cloth rope, wondering which’d be the fastest and easiest way to die. Maybe both.
“ Daisy? Come on Daisy we’re going to be late”
“ Coming!” I squeaked. I stared back at the mirror and smoothed a consistent lock of my bangs that’s been upright since I was born.
“ Why the hell is your door locked?” Her voice grew low and sly ” What’s going on in there Daisy? Don’t tell you somehow synthesized a dress out of a plastic bag and flowers?”
I tugged on my jacket sleeve, wishing I’d done that “ Ok Tori I did NOT. And besides that happened like three years ago”
“ Yeah. At the prom”
“ It wasn’t really a plastic bag. Just a poly-prothene material and a few ginger leaves. The theme of the dance was to look generic”
“ Yeah” Tori scoffed ” Generic not alien-who-just-landed-saturn”
“ Considering the fact that Saturn is literally a floating ball of gas and rocks that would be humanly impossible…”
“ Enough of the facts Daisy just get out of there!” Yeah I know I’m exhausting. And Tori is so cool. I wonder why she hangs out with me. I still wonder why I hang out with ME.
I took in the deepest breath I could muster and smoothed out the wrinkles in my hair. Deep breathes Daisy. You’re going to walk out that door, looking as stupid as you always look and try to ignore the fact that Tori will gape at you.
Then scream at you.
Then storm off in a heavy rant
Then storm back and scream all over again.
Cause Tori literally FREAKS out at horrible outfits, an act she calls ‘fashion abuse’. And considering the fact that she hangs out with me, that’s saying a lot.
So I walked out through the door, feeling her eyes judge and scrutinize me like it does each time I come to school dressed in a comic shirt and pants filled with a thousand colors.
“ Ok let me get this straight Daisy Thompson” I groaned. And she went on in that stern voice she likes to use on Cymbal, her freakishly hairless toy poodle she STILL won’t give away even when the sight of it gives me nightmares everyday. I’m no animal enthusiast, especially of ones that should be in graves. “ Did you fall out of bed this morning”
“ No. That’s practically impossible considering the fact that my bed is guarded by two wooden posts and I sleep razor straight each night” Tori shot me a look that clearly stated out that she wasn’t interested in hearing any new fact I hadn’t repeated over a thousand times to her so I snapped my lips back shut.
“ What the hell are you wearing Daisy? Its the Bascar event! Like a thousand models and top notch fashion designers are going to be there” She let out a dreamy sigh ” Justin Hayes is going to be there. And I can’t get acquainted with him having you dressed like Elvis’s lost kid”
“ To be fair on me Tori this was the only thing I could find in my laundry”
“ Laundry?” She frowned ” Isn’t that supposed to be your wardrobe…” She let out a gasp ” Daisy is this what I’m thinking it is?”
“ Considering the fact that we’ve got two different brains with mine slightly bigger and…”
“ You don’t have any other neat thing to change into? Daisy!”
“ Its not my fault. I’ve been busy with… stuff” Yeah. Like arranging dad’s library alphabetically and then re-arranging the clothes in your wardrobe by color gradient. Get a life Daisy Thompson!
“ What stuff? What stuff should stop you from washing your stuff? What is wrong with you Daisy?”
I stared at her hot red face and lowered my eyes ” I’m sorry Tori. You can go without me if you like. I’ll just go in and self-reflect”
Tori rolled her eyes ” Self what? I could have gotten you new clothes but we’re running late as it is so here. We’ll be late for the bus damn it” She slipped out of her extreme high fashion green sequin jacket and draped it over my shoulder. I looked down at it. Luckily it didn’t look too out of place with my cargo pants. Oh banana peels! Who wears cargo pants to a Bascar event? I’m not even sure I know what that means but it sounds big.
Especially because Tori’s sweating like I do when I have to play dodge-ball in PE and forget to wear a shoe. Believe me that happens all the time. She’s been in love with Justin Hayes, supermodel and most popular teen model since she was like in first grade. She’s got a huge poster of him in her room and literally stalks him on EVERY page that has even a sticker of him as a logo or something 24/7/365 ( You do understand that I’m being SUPER figurative don’t you? I mean considering the fact that she has to eat, bath, sleep and… stop talking Daisy!) She knows literally everything about him, even things I’m sure HE never knew about HIMSELF. She’s been dreaming of meeting him and working with him as a model, her next big dream after Justin Hayes becoming her boyfriend. And with the way Tori’s built, I’d bet she’d have no problems with that. For one, she’s really tall and lanky and plus, she’s the blonde. She’s got the trademark hands down. Not strawberry burned ginger ( whatever that is… ok you made that up Daisy!)
All in all, the Bascar is totally important to Tori and I’m not going to ruin it with my geeky antics.
So one day of trying NOT to be a geek. I could do that.
Note to self:
-Un-geek inner geek.
-Do my laundry after changing life motto
