I doubted their existence – that is, the existence of the stereotypical teenager. I’m clearly far from normal, and I just figured everyone else was too. Or, at the very least, that things weren’t as bad as the media portrays them as.
I was proven wrong listening to girls chitchat in our last Cosmet class. Apparently, girls my age do go to random bush parties, hit on random guys, and sleep with almost everyone (including their best friend’s boyfriends.) This was news to me. I mean, some of them seem so nice! But no, they get drunk and end up so high they can’t see straight and find themselves waking up, naked, in a stranger’s bedroom with another stranger. Or two.
A profile of a few of my cosmet mates:
The cheerleader
Really, can you profile a cosmetology class without a cheerleader? No. No, you can’t.
This girl’s actually a sweetheart – unexpected, right? I thought she would be the worst of the bunch. But no, she runs around in jeans and sweatshirts, has baby-blonde hair, and loves to gossip about the stereotypical cheerleading bitches. I quite liked her, actually.
The model
The other one you almost expect to take cosmetology.
She’s about 5″7, with gorgeous fire-red, naturally curly hair. Super-pale, tight-pored skin, you can tell that she was totally born to model – her legs are, I swear to god, as long as my entire body. She’s fine too – completely uninhibited and funny.
However, she is also a bit of a disappointment – she dates pretty guys for one night stands, sees no problem with underage drinking. But she does have fantastic points as well – she makes it dead clear that she won’t go clubbing if it’s an 18+ club, and isn’t comfortable with fake ID. Also, she won’t go to bush parties unless she either knows a bunch of people going or she’s friends with the person throwing it – none of these are things that I would ever have to worry about, but I’m so glad that she sets rules like these to keep herself out of trouble. It restores my faith in people my age, just a bit – if you’re going to party, party safe!
The IB kid that tries too hard
Oh, god. She’s like a leech that won’t let go of me, nevermind the fact that I don’t particularly like her. One, one guy likes her, and she suddenly won’t shut the fuck up about him. “Oh, he likes me SO MUCH, and I don’t know what to do because I don’t like him like that!” or, “O-M-G, Rae! He was ALL OVER ME today!”
A word of advice to this girl: give it up. From what I know from other sources, the guy’s a sweetie and he does like you – but hon, there’s an obvious difference between worrying about your friendship with him and bragging about his crush. And it’s also obvious that you crossed that sixteen-hours-of-bitching ago.
The IB kid that tries even harder
Grew up going to school with rich kids but lives in the not-so-great part of town. Can’t use complete sentences and thinks that, just because I can pull eighties without breaking a sweat and nineties if I study, I’m perfect and problem free. I don’t like her at all – she’s too loud, parties with anyone in a desperate attempt to be “cool”, and compulsively paints her nails (don’t ask. Just don’t.)
The ghetto girl
I like her, surprisingly! So maybe she has six inches of cleavage, smells kinda funny, and wears way to much makeup. So maybe she’s a little (fine, a LOT) whore-y. She’s funny! She does the whole “overly-black” thing for fun, and manages to balence partial IB with heavy clubbing. I would never want to be her, but she knows how to have fun and, more importantly, how to be happy.
