Santa Cruz on Puberty

Ok, this post is a day early, but I was too excited to wait until Monday.

Dude. Santa Cruz is rad.

You want to know what else is rad? Staying in a beach house with a view of the ocean for free.

Don’t believe me? Here’s a picture of what I get to look at while I’m writing this up for you beautiful people:

Jeff being one of those hot dudes that hangs out on the beach.

Holy shit, right?

I wish you could be here to experience the glory that is this vacation.

The story:

Jeff’s parents are really good friends with the woman who owns this house. Once a year, they get to come here and stay for a week or two. Why so lucky? Their friend is just really fucking awesome. That’s why. We’re here this week just because someone in the world is awesome. I don’t know if that inspires you, but it inspires the hell out of me.

So, thanks to the woman I don’t know who is letting us stay in her house. She’s the shit.

The last time I was in Santa Cruz I was fourteen, chubby and super awkward. I was in the period of adolescence where one wears a baggy sweater year round to hide the body that they believe is a hideous wreck when really it’s just a normal pubescent bod. I remember hanging out on the boardwalk, trying to stand in the shade so as to not sunburn, not going swimming at all (even though I really wanted to) and trying really hard to flirt with a boy my age who was visiting from Australia. In my mind, we were going to fall madly in love, become pen pals (how romantic) and I would move to Australia to live with him in his family’s mansion.

We never even spoke to each other. I think I asked him if he wanted a piece of taffy and then my weird little fourteen year-old brain was like, “I’m gonna run with this and give you a totally unrealistic fantasy for you to pine over for the next two days,” which pretty accurately describes most of my puberty.

With all that being said, I had not so fond memories of Santa Cruz and was really stoked to come here now that I’m older and, for the most part, a lot less awkward.

For the record, I don’t think I’m any less awkward than I was at fourteen, I think I’ve just gotten used to and accepted my eccentricities which allows me to function better in public.

So, this isn’t really that sassy of a blog post because I’m feeling all grateful and happy and shit.

Sorry.

But don’t worry, by next Monday I’ll be a huge crazy bitch again.

Book for Puberty

I think I read Teen Angst? Naaah . . . A Quasi-autobiography cover to cover about 5 times when I was fifteen. Ned Vizzini (who, holy shit! is still writing awesome stuff. I just discovered this while getting the link to his website. I do believe my love for Ned has thus been rekindled) held my hand through the awkward years. I even used to write him emails which he would always promptly respond too. I also had a pretty big idol-crush on him. My thoughts were, “Wow. He writes. So do I. We are meant to be.”

You may know him from the book It’s Kind of a Funny Story that was turned into a film with that little person related to Julia Roberts. The book, It’s Kind of a Funny Story along with Be More Chill were his follow up books to Teen Angst and they were just as good.

Actually, now that I think about it, Ned is so awesome that he sent me a signed book once – he did a lot of freebie stuff on his website. He had a thing set up where you could pick the free thing you wanted and write down how you wanted him to inscribe it. So my smart ass was like, “write something about how awesome I am.” So, he did! I wish I had the book with me so I could get a picture, but it says, “To Amanda – you’re awesome. And I didn’t even put “awesome” in quotes like a dick.”

Tell me about your pubescent years and the books you read in the comments! Nothing like a telling a story that makes everyone feel awkward.