Every afternoon at 2:45 there's a man who bikes along Route 22 to Dominick's where he's worked for years. He bikes home at night through any kind of weather with his backpack. No lights, all dark clothing, just the small reflectors on his pedals.

Some days near Lake Zurich I come across the same man I saw while practicing how to park in the parking lot of my old church. Two years ago he was there with his bike, a stuffed animal, skinny jeans, black tank top, top hat, a studded belt, and a dark beard. He bikes the streets around Lake Zurich, occasionally leaves to visit Deer Park mall where he's looked strangely at by others. 


According to students at our high school, each feeder middle schools represents a different social class. I came from the wealthy, upper-class, rich school with kids who are "loaded" and selfish. Realistically, my family is fortunate and well taken care of, but we don't match the classification. We support my cousin who is divorced with a seven year old daughter and we supported my aunt who was struggling with a million things and had no money. I was never raised to believe I was entitled to anything, but that I should always be there for others who were in need of help.

Being classified by a social class simply sucks. Writing others off to a generalized group restricts them from overcoming what they're limited by. What we should be noticing is that there are millions of people, let alone Americans, in the world who are trying to make ends meet and could use a little bit of our help. 

I'm sick of athletes, celebrities, big-named artists receiving billions of dollars to spend on some mansion while so many people are left to sleep on the streets. I hate seeing wealthy people treating Starbucks employees like crap trying to order some $5.30 drink that could go toward buying someone else dinner for the night (I love my Starbuck's employees, but I do spend too much on coffee). 

So many people get caught up in their own world, in their money, to notice some of it can go toward something greater. It's time to start doing something different, especially with the holidays coming up. Let's bring some happiness to everyone this season.

Young Deviant Dependence on Drugs

Just this morning one of my friends told me she was arrested last night for drug paraphernalia. She didn't break down crying. She didn't consider changing her lifestyle. For some reason, she almost seemed proud for ending up in the office of a local jail. 

Sixteen years old and she's already been handcuffed. She magically avoided the incident being written in her record. But neither were enough to tell her she's basically hit rock bottom. Within a few hours, she was back at home and already certain her her life as a druggie wasn't over.

I tried to be role-model for my friend, someone to go to no matter what was going on, someone who would love her and help her, someone to look up to when she had on else to go to. 

Apparently I'm just some ignorant, straightedge seventeen year old who doesn't know how "awesome" weed is because I refuse to be a part of it. To be honest, I don't need to try it nor care to. I don't need a drug to make me artificially happy because I'm stronger than that.

What makes me upset is seeing my friends actually think they need to be dependent on drugs to bring happiness in their lives when everything seems dark.

Our school's society is writing off kids who would probably be seriously punished if they lived elsewhere. I believe our school and our community are ignoring a serious issue and allowing excuses to cover the truth. Drugs ARE a problem; no matter what the kind or their effects. Clearly there is a problem when so many teenagers resort to being deviant by smoking or drinking because they love feeling of being "bad ass", or when so many kids think they need weed to get by. Punishments need to be implemented, programs need to be started, resources and help need to be provided so we can actually attempt to do something.


No more justifying weed or ignoring the problem. It disgusts me seeing so many people rely on marijuana just to forget and numb everything that's hurting them. There are other answers, but of course hardly anyone is there to actually help them.

post 12.

My mom always instilled this idea of "a random act of kindness" in my brother and I. At dinner my dad used to always ask two things we learned that day, while my mom overlooked it and wanted to hearthe random, kind things we had done for others.

Each individual in our society is self-centered to some extent. We're always determined to get where we need to be, focused on what we need to do, and worried about what needs to get done. Helping others is easily forgotten. 

Going out of your way to bring someone else happiness should become apart of your to-do list because it has more value than a test score, getting to class on time, or catching your favorite TV show.  

The random acts of kindness give others a small reason to smile that day. We need to start going out of our way to give something great to someone else.

Doing something awesome for others just-because is deviant. It's weird, strange, and unexpected, but it's beyond worth it.


I want to start challenging myself to do something every week because I get way too caught up in the little things. Giving someone else a reason to smile or feel awesome that day is way more important.

Is 80 lbs good enough?

Last night I made a quick trip to the grocery store to buy tea. As always I got caught up in the magazines by the checkout line for a few seconds. Portia de Rossi, Ellen Degeneres's wife, had recently been a guest on Ellen's show where she openly discuss her story, one of modeling and anorexia (to watch the highlights click here: The Ellen Show). 


At 12 years old Portia was being objectified and "sexified", instead of modeling for others her age. The once somewhat confident young girl lost her self-esteem and started comparing herself to all of the other models, judging every part of her own body. She wanted to be in control, to be like the others, to be admired for being the impossible "too thin". She kept secrets, started obsessing over dieting and exercising until she starved herself to 80 pounds. 

Every girl and woman adores these models, secretly craving to look like them; but to look like the images, you have to destroy your body.

Portia still occasionally calls out parts of her that aren't "perfect" enough, but then realizes how unrealistic and irrational she's being. Today she looks into the mirror and accepts herself because she is healthy instead of constantly trying to be in control over work outs and food.


Females in today's society want stick-thin legs, a flat stomach with hip bones showing, tiny arms, highlighted cheekbones, revealing shoulder bones, a huge butt and bust, along with the defining haircut and iimpeccable complexion shown in the media. Portia said the media is damaging who we are and who we are supposed to be. Our culture is providing all females with an irrational, unrealistic, impossible image to reach that affects us every time we see it, and half the time it's affecting us on a sub-conscious level.

This is not me ignoring what guys have to face, but me explaining what's affecting me, my friends, and women and young girls all over the world. It would be awesome if we could start challenging the media to publish un-airbrushed, healthy looking models. And we need to remember, no matter how difficult it is, that who we are is just as gorgeous and beautiful as that girl on a magazine cover. Our natural beauty with our flaws along with our personalities is what makes us truly beautiful. 

Lyrics from Ke$ha's new single:
"Got that glitter on my eyes
Stockings ripped all up the side
Looking sick and sexyfied
So let's go uh oh
Let's go"
 - why do we need to have make up and revealing clothes to be sexy? I really don't understand. 

Volunteering for Habitat

This past weekend I dragged myself out of bed at 8 to drive my brother to football practice, quickly came home and threw on jeans and a t-shirt because me and Caitlin were off to volunteer at a local church that was making soup packets to benefit the Habitat For Humanity home. I felt a little off walking into the church because a few years ago I started questioning my religion and dropped out of my Catholic church; but instantly we were taken in and greeted by a group of older people who were extremely energetic and kind. 

A group of sociology students put with an interesting couple and a group of older people made for an amazing and fun three hours. We were working in groups putting packets of noodles together, switching out old instructions for correct ones, re-sealing bags, putting together new bags, and having a great time on a rainy day. 

I started with changing out instructions in some of the bags that had already been made. There were about 8 boxes with 16-20 bags each that needed to be re-opened and replaced with new instructions. For a while it seemed like we were getting no where, but once we got into a rhythm it went by really fast. Then I was asked to put baggies of noodles together to add to the soup packets. I worked with some of the older ladies, listening to their stories and talking to them until we ran short of noodles. Then one of them went out to buy at least 10 more boxes of noodles, while the rest of us put more soup packets together. We filled them with spices, dried vegetables, any noodle baggies we had, an instruction slip, and a Habitat For Humanity card. There were hundreds of packages that needed to be put together, but slowly and surely we got through all of them. Once we got more noodles, we quickly threw together more noodle baggies to fill the packages that needed them. After all of the filling, packaging, and counting the packets we had finally finished.

Somewhere along the way the older people ordered us all pizza, which was incredibly sweet. We all sat down and ate together and talked, which was a nice break after standing on your feet for almost three hours. Before we left the group of older people told us how grateful they were for helping them out and how much fun they had being with us. Before they left they shook our hand or gave us hugs and it was really amazing to see how much we helped them and how appreciative they were of our hard work. If we weren't there, I can't even begin to imagine how long it would have taken to do all of that. 

Later that night Lee mass-texted all of us (she told us how she wants to be "hip" like us and go for texting over email). She thanked us once again for all of our work and how much fun she had with us that day, which made me smile (and her use of "u" for "you" made me laugh). I really had a great time helping them accomplish such a massive task while getting to listen and talk with all of them. It was definitely a great volunteering experience.

My brother calls me defensive, but I like to think I'm opinionated.  

When something bothers us, we should have the strength to say something back. Often no one says anything and things become silent, which is when problems start. So this is me saying something back to one of our sociology students: http://mrpanfil.blogspot.com/. 

You left a comment on some one's blog the other night: i fell the same way about being taught to be obedient,neat,and polite as kid. I fell that society has turned its back on parents/ or other adults being able to hit kids around. It was good fro kids it taught them a lesson and taught them to be tuff. Now we got a bunch of sissies and weenies running around. Bro. 


Parenting your child by hitting them is not okay. It's as simple as that.

For a few years a family of three has lived next to mine. Their son, Jack, is the one of the cutest kids I've ever met. Ever since he was born, I've babysat him and seen him grow. Jack is surrounded by different authoritative figures throughout the week. His parents work full time, he has an incredible nanny who takes care of him daily, his teachers at the daycare that he attends five days a week, and me. Over the years we've all noticed how he has behavioral problems beyond that of an average kid his age.

After spending countless hours there over the summer, I can't describe how difficult it was to handle him. Half the time I wanted to pull my hair out or cry or sit in a corner and pretend I wasn't there. Despite how badly I wanted him to behave, I never wanted to hit him. However, I know Jack's parents have conflicting feelings on how to discipline him. His mom tries handling it rationally, even though it takes insane amounts of patience and understanding. Then there is his father who willingly threatens him and has been tempted to hit him. (on a side note: a few months ago, Jack's dad was informed at work that you can punish your child by putting vinegar on a napkin and putting it on your child's tongue, which he actually now uses). 


Don't get me wrong, I know Jack's parents love him even if they're probably struggling everyday with raising him. But over the past year I sometimes worry about Jack. It's an understatement to say his dad's beliefs and temper bother me. But more importantly than me being bothered, I know Jack is scared. After spending so much time with him, you can see through his eyes and reactions how much he fears his own dad.


Lessons taught through pain aren't effective and aren't going to build your child a strong character. They're going to remember the pain more than the lesson. According to the National Association of Social Workers, physical punishment leads to: "physical injury, increased aggression, antisocial behavior, poorer adult adjustment, and greater tolerance of violence" along with, "a risk to the safety and development of children". Building a strong character is done by supporting your children, letting them follow what the believe in, and instilling confidence in them. Harming them in any way for any reason will get them no where.

I realize there are so many factors that impact how a parent raises their child, but physically punishing them shouldn't be one of them. I loathe in the greatest way how history and society continues to lead parents in using this kind of discipline. And if you're parents raised you that way or someone told you that hitting a child is alright, I'm indescribably sorry.

So bro, I hope you realize there are a bunch of kids around you who never had a hand laid upon them and aren't "sissies" or "weenies", but incredibly strong individuals. And bro, these people are unquestionably tough. I'm sure if you weren't so ignorant and put some research into what you said, you'd understand how wrong you are, bro. There is enough all of us have been through in life that's makes us strong and tough without being hit, thanks so much bro. 

Run Forest Run

Normally I stay up late every night, being a night owl is a part of who I am. Since I can't sleep in during the week anymore, I've come to adore sleeping in on weekends. This past Saturday I gave up hours of sleep and hesitantly got out of bed at 5:00 am to volunteer at the Prarie State Marathon, which took place at Independence Grove in Libertyville. I dragged myself out of bed, threw myself in the shower to wake up, quickly got ready, grabbed a thermos full of coffee, and slowly headed out. I drove to my best friend, Taylor's, house so we could share the hours and experience together. While we were driving it was still dark out, which made the whole waking up process way harder. Partying out to music in the car and discussing how pathetic boys can be woke us up a bit though.

We got to the forest preserve, which was beautiful especially with the sun rising, and got out of the car. Stepping out of the car was a bit of a shock because it was definitely a chilly morning. We had no idea where were supposed to go so we followed the mass of early bird runners who had gotten there hours before the race was scheduled to start. Everything was already chaotic and I knew that day was going to be an unorganized mess. Unorganized messes don't bode well with control freaks like myself. 

Quickly, Taylor and I were sent off to two different things. Tay was at registration and I was assigned to passing out electronic anklets that matched each runner's number. The anklets tracked their starting and stopping times, and 600 runners needed to be individually handed one so numbers wouldn't be mistakenly taken by the wrong person. There were 7 boards with 100 numbered anklets on each. For a while it was me and an older man giving the anxious runners their anklets, and slowly more people were allocated to help us. Two girls from Mundelein High School were there along two people from Vernon Hills High School who I coincidentally knew through my ex-boyfriend. Each of us haphazardly ran to the boards as bunches of runners approached us, and our process was disorderly. One of the kids tried taking on all of the runners, despite other volunteers assisting them and he would yell at you if you didn't move fast enough. If there is one thing I am confident in, it's my leader skills. After I got increasingly annoyed, I suggested each of us take care of a board so we could be more efficient. Everyone went for it and everything became easier.

Immediately after we got through the runners, the race started and everyone was cheering for them as passed by to start their 13 mile half-marathon or 26 mile full marathon. The guy who led the marathon didn't entirely know where to put us originally, and that didn't change after the race started. A lot of us lifted boxes of food off of a truck to a table for the end of the race. I have never seen so many bananas in my entire life. There were hundreds and every single one needed to be separated, which became our new task. Between the smell of bananas and the irritating bees, I was more than ready to do something else. So I was asked to help set up the sign at the finish line, which was easy and quick. 

After that me and Taylor got bunched together to record finish times through the computer they had set up. I read of the numbers of the runners who came in while Taylor typed their numbers into the computer which somehow also corresponded to their anklets. Being recorders was stressful and more complicated than I imagined. The numbers weren't always easy to catch, groups of runners came in at one time, and just reading the correct number seemed difficult when you were under pressure. Around 11:30 most of the half-marathon runners had crossed the finish line and two new girls took over our position. 

Despite waking up before anyone in my house at 5:00, it was actually a lot of fun. Everything was faced paced and there is something about working under pressure that I like, which also made it fun. A lot of the runners thanked us because they appreciated our help and how organized we were. But we were only a small part of the work that was involved in making a marathon work. From what me and Taylor were told by one of the moms running it, Peter and his friends go for three or four days without sleep in order to make everything work. I felt good knowing I helped tackle a few of the hundred tasks those people take on every time. 

The marathon also reminded me how much I missed running and how I would really love to be a part of a half-marathon one day. So after going off of almost 5 hours of sleep and 6 hours of volunteering, I still decided to go to the Y and run a few miles on the treadmill. Reconnecting with running felt great, but what was even a greater feeling was helping out the hundreds of people at the marathon that morning.