Mad Pops

Being a teenager is all about being ridiculously popular. Whoever said that life isn't a popular contest must not have been on top the social ladder, because it most deff does matter. Not really, that's a major JK kiddies. The thing that matters at the end of each day is how you feel about yourself, regardless about how anyone else feels about you. It's perfectly normal to want to be liked, but when you lose yourself in the process you become nothing more than a shadow of your former self. The most unique people in the teenage scene, and like the world overall are the one's who couldn't give a flying sailor's ass about what other people of them. Self-confidence, high self-esteem, and being genuine are the things that matter, at least to me. But if you're mad pops, keep doing your thing, miss Gene Shallot.

Making a name for yourself is kind of the goal in life, maybe or maybe not. All I know is that if people didn't know that you existed, then what would it make if you were even there or not? If you don't do anything to change the world or at least add anything to it, then you're not living teenagedom to the fullest. As freshmen we're obligated to still roll double digit deep with whenever go places, don't judge us, we're just first years. In to the Davis Center for dinner with the majority of the Eastside Gang at the mock-restaurant, Brennan's. Are we loud and absolutely ridiclous at all times, uhm yeah, it's what we do. They've got those little buzzers for when your food is done and it always happens to be Sam I Am to be last, it's truly unfair because everybody else is done eating by the time she gets her food. A strongly worded letter will be written to the management, popcorn and mason jars for cups won't hold us over forever, and orders should be delivered in the sequence they were requested (common sense, kiddies). Back to the hall for another dance party, this time even more wild that usual. Literally everybody just dancing over zealously to the trashy sounds of our party girl Ke$ha, including dance stare love glares via backwards chair thrusting, ceiling taps, and a beach ball (that was eventually murdered by rabid pen). Sweat dripping, dignity lost and a great time had it was time to get hardcore sporty and play some tennis with Nasty Nate. Off to the gym to get big, chase my shots of steroids with milkahol (milk + alcohol = milkahol *JK, no drunkard games for this kid) and unleash the beast within in. My first official game of tennis, and let me tell you it was like the freaking grand slam, I might have sprained my ankle, screamed by throat raw with grunts, and sweated my jocktastic clothes out, but it was all worth it. I lost 7-6 games, but it was close as hell kiddies, and I'll be back with a vengeance and a whole line of tennis gear. I came back to shower and get fresh and what not, and come out to see everybody's just hanging out, so I grab a bag of Swedish and head on down the hall to visit baby-girl JaMocha Shake. Someone please tell me why this girl just hops out of the bed looking all flustered and rushed but still poised, gorgeous and sincere as ever. It shouldn't even be possible. If I could blush, I would. Every time I talk to her I loose my train of thought, my tongue ties, my heart beats in my ears, and my body temperature rises. The chick is awesome, so easy to talk to and listen to, funny, and super Down to Earth. After a good hour of conversating, it was time for me to head back to the Eastside, spring in my step, and a passion burning in my heart. Mmm, JaMocha Shake. Time flies by and eventually the coolest of the cool kids come back from their party, Hannity Insanity, Mabby, and Natty Dan. Jandro brings his mattress in the lounge and madness ensues, curious George for the upper mid-westside appears magically and disappears just as fast. Jakey-Bear sleeps over on the ground, crooked neck sydrome. Oh what a night, just to be mad pops.

Waking up at 11am on Saturday morning makes you kind of a little bit, just a smidgen BA. I woke up with a pounding headache, loud noises were a no no, and my eyes couldn't focus, it must have been all that candy the night before. No more Swedish Fish shots. So the Eastside Gang went outdoorsy and the majority of the fam-bam was out of a hike. Those of us who were left behind (sounds like a Kirk Cameron post rapture movie) barely knew what to do with ourselves. I shot two commercials for the broadcast news team, humorus of course and called it an afternoon. Well I occupied my time adequately, uhm, solo dance party wit my Nickelodeon and Disney Channel stars music, plus a digusting amount of homework. I watched the 90210 (my entire life) the season 4 premiere, the Beverly Hills crew hits college and it was so dramatic and I loved it. In between commercial I struggled to do my laundry. The laundry room smells like sweaty balls, rotten tube sock juice, and doo-doo stains, oh and fresh linen fabric softener. It's hotter than a skillet in there, and pretty much foul as heck. People are super rude and have been taking clothes of out the washer and just laying them every which way. This is not some Asian laundromat, where they take your ordah, this is college, so when I walked in on some yolked jock touching my A&F plaids, I pretty much was about to rage, but then I realized he could probably use my entire body as a toothpick, so a snarky "Oh, I think those are my clothes, still covered in soap, thank you." Oh, it hawkward as hell, yeah, touch the plaid and you die, nobody will stop me from becoming an Abercrombie Model, Tyra Bank can eat her heart out on this hunksicle. So I come back to the room and my new brothers, Krabby Patty and Baby Tom, and our wicked estranged uncle Jandro, are all chillin' like villains. How many college students does it take to set up a TV? 3, and we failed, so Baby-Tom in all his toddler style studlyness did it, the kid is 16. I wonder what tuition is paying for? Jandro and I decide to visit North 1 to cause a ruckus, it was the freaking weekend and I was about to have me some fun. We end up hanging out with these cool kids, a pair of Emilys, Amy and Rachel, oh and Meraz in their other worldly suite, Eastside for life. After a couple of rough races of hopping and crab walking, and saying hey to Bandana Nick and all his headwear glory, that time ending in me being dragged by Jandro we escape back to the sanctuary know was UHN2. Cover operations ensue and someone Jandro appears magically with an Xbox 360 controller and Halo Reach so we play, the dude is just as abusive in digital life as he is in the real world. All of sudden, I saw a vision of goddess proportions as JaMocha Shake comes to hang out in my room. She sat on my bed and fed me a piece of lemon-popcorn, like who does that? How does she know popcorn is my favorite food, and that girls who can game are like an adolescent boy's teenage dream. With her curled hair, the girl looked scrumptious. Double T (Bretton) joined the fun and we took down tons of alien scum. We all grab some jackets and head over to the Marché and the night crew is on the prowl again. We end up holding doors open for EMTs with a stretcher and then raiding the place. The whole weekend clique is there, and we all go after my B&J's Cinnamon Bun ice cream with me breaking 3 plastic spoons, eff those utensils. Norio, Shan-Dawg, Jandro, Nasty-Nate, Mireille, and I duck out before the sloppy drunkards start getting too filthy wild. Back to the spiral staircase lounge to literally chill. Westside Jake, aka Jape (Jake + Hairyness/Ape = Jape) joined the party with his discombobulated self and used my sporkife (knife/spork) to munch the hell out of that ice cream. People pop in and out to say hey, and blonde Hannah (like Han-na-na (what's my name) with the really nice teeth, and Lax Bro Ben (who might be super classy). There was that search for Northside Mike for his chicken wings, where we meet up with Pat-Pat and his singing buddy Harry, who's roommate knocked out their screen from their window, and Pheebs (or PF) came to the rescue The rest of the Eastside Gang watches a movie in Meatball/Ali-Cat's room before beddy-bye time rolls around. New friends, and tons of facebook requests accepted, we're mad pops.

Early Sunday morning and I'm all dressed up and ready to hit church with Shan-Dawg and Jandro. Small service, with great message about being sincere with compassion, mindful of our active choices, and tons of super friendly people. Jandro and I hit the Marchee for some pancakes, and thick sawsages, with that pure VT maple syrup to drizzle on top. Brunch can suck a d, I was more than satisfied, so much so that I had the capacity to actually do my homework. Somehow the majority of us end up in the lounge just working, Crazy Jake, Ky-Ky, and Nasty-Nate. Jandro passed out with his mattress again on the lounge floor, epic. We did some shouting to random passerbys like the famous Bandana Nick. So afternoon rolls around and I need some stuff so Jandro and I walk down to Rite Aid downtown and end up buying way more than expected. So $68 on candy, Bengay and another first aid kit, is most deff ridic. So we've got a whole lot of junk and we decide to call a taxi, even though the bus station is only two blocks over, whatever, I'm a teenager. The dude sounded like Al Pacino with a murderer's voice. Like straight alcoholic with holes in his skin, most horrendous taxi ride ever, $11.25 for a few streets, bull crap. Afterwards it was time for Jersey Shore style floor dinner on Redstone Campus. The whole gang was there, Ali-Cat, Mouse, Jandro, Shan-Dawg, Norio, Hannity Insanity, Sam I Am, No Crap Carolyn, and Mabby - it's just good to be together and feast. The food was awesome and the antics that ensued were epic. We literally saw everyone from our residence hall, the Westside, and even the alternate reality Northsiders. Hood Milk Jug filled up, tea packets pilfered, and ice cream dived in to and we were outta there. Jandro, Norio (my new playful arch nemesis) and I walked Lilia to the Marchee for a little get together with her peer leader, and I went on to my broadcast news team meeting. Looks like this kid will be co-hosting a pop culture show this week, link to follow. I'm ready for my close up. Home sweet home to hang out and do some more work. The lounge got a new visitor and the girls marked their territory, the game is getting ferociously awesome. Celebrity couple names change on a daily basis, more to come. But night falls and it's time to say goodnight to our fans. We're just so mad pops.

Being a teenager is all about being yourself. I mean if people are going to be looking at you anyway, you might as well give them a show. Mad Pops, coined by my roommate Krabby Patty, is like the New England equivalent to super. You can give mad props, or say something is mad dope, or mad dumb. The applications are endless. But if you're populah like us, you're just mad pops, deal with it.

My blog post question for the day is ... how have you affected your world? I'm a force to be reckoned with and I bring my own style and personality into everything I do. It's who I am and every fiber of my entire being.


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