A little birdie told me... she's a harlot.

"Ronald loves his neighbor, Shelly! Pass it on!"

"Psst... Ronald loves his neighbor, Shelly! Pass it on!"

"Hey, Ronald loves his neighbor's jelly!"

"Uhh... Ronald's gloves are... at his neighbors... and smelly?"

"Erm, Ronald's gloves miss his neighbor's - what? Belly? That doesn't make any sense..."

Remember playing telephone? The game where you whispered a sentence from one person to the other and the kid on the end had to say it aloud? Things were often pretty different by the end...

The game was silly, but its message was not. Gossip and story telling tends to change with each person it reaches. Maybe the first couple people have it right, but news tends to twist after a while.

Hello, rumours and miscommunication.

Sometimes it's not so innocent, though. Oh, no. Some people (who do NOT make sense whatsoever to me) find some sort of sick joy in causing other people misery. Maybe you kissed a boy at a party and after some whispering and a certain amount of time, maybe a few weeks, it gets back to you that you slept with the guy. And not just him, turns out you've been pretty busy, if you catch my drift.

Skank.

But that's not true, is it? Somewhere in the grapevine, someone messed it up. And now you're the one who has to bare the consequences. Great.

In the childhood game of telephone, the mistakes just caused giggles. In real life, the results can be much, much worse. In place of laughter, there are tears, fights, maybe some revenge... and someone's likely to come out of it emotionally scarred as though a feline used their face as a scratching post.

That, my friends, is what I hated most about high school. I heard some utter rubbish about myself. I don't know if stuff got misinterpreted or if someone just originally made it up for some reason unknown to me. If the latter is the case, then that person or group is just as childish as the second grade girls playing telephone at recess.

When daydreaming, writing a story, or playing an innocent game of telephone, making changes to reality is perfectly acceptable (often encouraged, even), but when someone takes it upon themselves to spread lies (purposely vindictive or not) someone else can end up seriously, emotionally (or physically, if your rumours somehow involve the school thug. Or the mafia. Or me. Just kidding about that last part. Or am I?) hurt.

Not so okay...

I don't know when (or if, actually), in the process of living, learning and growing up, people finally learn that "don't tell anyone" actually means don't tell anyone. You confide in someone, and that person seems to think it's okay to tell just one other person, as long as they say "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, so please don't say anything..." But then THAT person tells JUST ONE MORE and so on... one gossip-filled domino knocking over another... and BAM! All of a sudden, you're a skank. Or a cheat. Or a liar, thief, inconsiderate ass, absolute maniac, etcetera.

Is sharing your secret or opinion to someone worth the risk of it getting out to more people, possibly in a jumbled form? Maybe it is. Maybe it's worth it to see who in our lives is trustworthy. It's just too bad that the outcome can sometimes be more severe than a few kids messing up a thought and turning it in to a nonsense sentence.

-Kimberly

For the record, Postsecret is a wonderful way to get your secrets out in to the world in an anonymous fashion, so you don't have to worry about it coming back to you and biting you in the bum. Or you could start a journal (as long as you have a top secret hiding place, of course). Or even email KimBerlyn at AwkwardConfessions@gmail.com. Your secrets are always safe with us.

Ten years ago....

So I'm moving to California.

I'm sure 98.5% of you were already aware of this but I felt the remaining percent (1.5%... Right?) also deserved the right to be fully informed. So there it is.

For those of you who have never moved or cleaned out your room, I think I should inform you now that it is not fun. You have to form five piles (no more, no less) in order to successfully get through this without committing suicide.

Pile One: Trash.Tiny pieces of plastic that have been laying around your room (maybe you forgot to pick it up one day or someone else dropped it or you placed it there hoping an infant or dog (that you don't like) may stumble upon it and choke to death), broken objects, ripped clothing, old make-up, and anything else you just could not part with before but now can't bare to look at.

Pile Two: Recycling
Paper. Cardboard.
Pile Three: Memories you can't take but can't part with.
Toys, old drawings, tests, report cards, pictures, and more.

Pile four: Give away.
Old clothes, toys, games, and other junk you no longer want but is still in good enough condition for others.

Pile five: Things you are going to take.
Nice clothes, a blanket perhaps, a few pictures and other stuff.
Anyways. For the past few weeks I have been slowly going through my room and creating these piles.... And in doing so I have found some things that I thought I should share with you. All of the following things were found under my desk, because apparently when I was little I thought it was important to keep ever single piece of paper NO MATTER WHAT WAS WRITTEN ON IT! And I stored all of those items under my desk because apparently there was no where else... Like I have said many times before, I. Am. A. Strange. Person.

Oh where to start.

I guess I'll start with My Friendship Memories Book.
Yes. You heard me correctly My Friendship Memories Book. It is a small book that someone must have gotten me along the way and I just never felt I could part with it.
Now, I only completed about three pages of this book but these three pages reveal so much about me as a young girl.

-Apparently I was 8 feet tall and 8 inches.
.....I had no idea I had shank so much in ten years.

- My least favorite subject was writing (or as I wrote it: riding).
..... And now I'm going to school to study to be a screenwriter.
- My favorite color was pink.
...... Now it's officially yellow. It was green but... I've moved on and hopefully green feels the same way.

- My least favorite month was September.
..... That's stupid. THAT'S WHEN MY BIRTHDAY IS. No one should hate September.

- And my least favorite chore was 'Mooing' or Mowing....... And I think I'm a bad spelled NOW, I was worse then awful back then.

That's pretty much all I got from the book.

Moving on.

I also found a note I wrote to myself about my life. I used to really hate my family and couldn't talk to anyone so I would write letters to a non-existant person (margaret). I think this was the last one. Good Riddens too... You probably all think I'm crazy now.

Again, moving on.
I found a work sheet titled How Much Do You Know? This work sheet asked sixth-grade-me what I thought about HIV and AIDS.
I wish this worksheet came with a packet of information because I would LOVE to know what my teachers were trying to convince me of back then.Why were they even talking to SIXTH graders about this...? They couldn't have waited till ninth grade when we watched a woman push a baby out of her vagina? Seriously?
Anyways....
I aced the worksheet. 10/10. Which is weird because half of the questions I answered "unsure".
However, the best part of this work sheet was the What's Your Opinion section.

There are three questions.
Three options (Agree, Disagree, and unsure).

One: People with HIV/AIDS should be kept away from others.Berlyn's answer: Agree.
Two: People with HIV/AIDS should be treated with respect.
Berlyn's Answer: Unsure.
Three: No one deserves to be sick.
Berlyn's Answer: Agree.
Now, I have to ask.
WHAT THE HELL WERE THESE PEOPLE TEACHING ME THAT MADE ME SO TERRIFIED OF HIV/AIDS THAT I JUST DID NOT WANT TO BE AROUND THEM ANYMORE.
Seriously.
Were they telling me that if I touched the people I would become infected? Were they making HIV/AIDS seem like it could just sneak out of the bushes and infect me?
Maybe I was just retarded. Who knows.

And finally.
I found the speech I wrote and read for fifth grade graduation.I have decided to type it out and share it with all of you. There were three topics. Past, present, and future. I chose present.
Here goes:

Do you remember when you graduated from kindergarten and you felt so good, you would smile for every picture and try to think of good ways to make your day even better? Once you got home you were bummed out because that special day was over. Then you would have to wait till sixth grade to graduate again. Now we don't get as much time at elementary school to stay with the teachers and the staff. Then after today's graduation you will think it as fun but inside you're sad because you leave all your younger friends behind and don't forget your teachers and staff and your past. You know you won't forget your past, but you also know your leaving it behind. You'll always remember your first days at school and the days you met your first friends. You'll try to think of your future and hope you do the 'one is silver and the other's gold trick' trick. If you do, how many friends will you have? Will you choose the right road? Will you do the right things? Will people bully you or will you bully other people? Will you be popular in the future? Ever since that kindergarten graduation you looked back to that day but remember today we're graduating from school, not fifth grade. Lets enjoy our special day. Happy Graduation.
Yeah.
There you go.
That was my Essay.
That I read in front of everyone.
In the fifth grade.
I guess I never noticed until I found this essay that I have a problem.
I have ALWAYS WORRIED ABOUT THE FUTURE MORE THAN THE NEXT PERSON.
I probably came out of the womb wondering when I what my cake was going to look like when I turned one... If I could have talked I would have described to my mother how worried I was that I wouldn't choose the right life choice.

Yeah, I have a problem.

Everytime someone asks me if I'm scared I answer:
"Yes, I mean what if I don't choose the right path?"
I wish I had written down all my memories in a book, this way I could have seen all of the thoughts I had on my life and the future rather that just tidbits of my mind.

I mean. All I have to tell me who I was when I was younger is my mom, these papers, and photographs.

Photographs like this one.

I found this under my desk as well.

It simply shows me, my brother and all my cousins.... They're all smiling. I'm holding a wooden stick and making a face.

Was I thinking that one day I would find this photo and wonder what I was thinking? Probably.

I found others too.

Like this one.

I was much younger in this photo but, well, aren't I adorable? Seriously? I don't know if I was thinking about the future the moments this photo was taken but it could be argued.

I wish I thought about the past as much as I did about what is to come.

I may have had a better relationship with my past and memories.

I wonder if I ever thought my hair would be as short as it is now or ever thought if I would ever desire to dye it blue. Maybe that was what I was thinking about while my mother pulled my hair into pigtails the morning before school.

Maybe I never thought about my hair at all.

Maybe I was spending that morning thinking about wether or not I would ever make friends who liked me for being weird rather than liking me only because I played the same sports as them.

I don't know. I can only tell you people who I was as a child based off of the things found under my desk.

I can only tell you who I was as the eight year old who wrote all of these papers and smiled in all of these pictures.

From what was left under my desk I was a disease-fearing, imaginary friend-writing, future-worrying, girly-girl who liked pink and hated "riding", who was adorable as heck and had shit-tons of curly hair.

But that is only what I can gather from what was underneath my desk.

In reality... Who was I as an eight-year-old?

I guess I'll never fully know.

Maybe I should begin focusing on who I will be as a TWENTY-eight-year-old.

Will my favorite color change? Will I still have the same aspirations? Will I still have some friends?

Will I look back at this blog and wonder what I was like as an eighteen-year-old?

Well regardless of what was or what will be.... I am happy about who I turned out to be.

Yep.

Well at least semi- satisfied.

Well.

I'm going to sleep.

I'm going to Hempfest tomorrow... Well today.... And I really don't want to be tired.

I'll start typing shorter blogs soon....

I promise.

-Berlyn

I need everything ever right this instant.

It's amazing. Magical. Spectacular. You need it. Everyone who owns it is gorgeous and extremely happy. If you buy it, you too will be gorgeous and extremely happy. Your life will be PERFECT. If you don't buy it, you will be an ugly loser. Upon owning it, everyone will light up when they see you and you will be greeted most extraordinarily. Go to the store and buy it NOW. NOWWWWW!!!!!

You don't even know what I'm talking about, but at least a little part of you is dying to go get it...

That, my friends, is the power of commercials and product placement.

Really, it happens all the time. You're watching the television and a commercial comes on, so chances are you will view the advertisement. You're in a car

and can't help but see billboards. Characters in your favorite sitcom have a fantastic time while drinking ice-cold Coca-Colas... yum, you want one... NOW.

Tasha is susceptible to Maybelline commercials in particular. One day, after viewing an advertisement of Maybelline's new Falsies Volume Express during the latest episode of The Secret Life of the American Teenager, Tasha said, "I need to stop buying mascaras because of the commericals... It's getting expensive and my eyelashes do NOT look like that."

(I later bought this mascara and excitedly texted Tasha to tell her. I actually really like it and my lashes look menacing... but I have huge eyelashes to begin with and they still don't look like the commerical promised.)

But now that I've mentioned Secret Life, let me explain about the HORRIBLE product placement that occurred during this terrible yet amazing show. There has been many "hidden" messages in the show to attempt to teach young viewers many things about morals and laws. But whatever, I love it.
Anyway, the Verizon logo has been shown on screen while characters relish their ability to send picture messages simply because they love Verizon... but I get that. It's a lot more subtle than the horrifying example Clean and Clear showed. Grace, a character who is very cute and Christian and used to be a cheerleader, was given a glorious gift by her mother who said something around the lines of "Oh, I went to the market today and picked this up for you, just in case you have a bad night and need a burst of energy in the morning." Out comes a Clean and Clean morning burst energizing weird object! Why could she not

have just been using it in the morning or something and commented on its ability to energize her? It was a terribly executed practice of product placement because it was dialogue. But...

It worked! I opened up my nineteenth birthday present from Tasha, and wrapped with a bath robe for my college dorm was the Clean and Clear Morning Burst Surge!

"YESSSSSSS!!"
Yeah, I was excited. That's actually quite the understatement...

Now I can be as pretty, peppy and popular as Grace Bowman. Score.

I've even seen a commercial making fun of commercials, and that commercial makes me want THEIR product because they REALIZE how ridiculous yet necessary advertisements are.

Kotex tampons. Yup. I really hope you have all seen the commercial. They're making fun of their OWN older commercials.

Perfect. I want them. Now. A year's worth. Now.

Why do I still not have them....

And that Verizon phone...

I don't even have Verizon...

I'm a T-Mobile customer...

I should put on my Falsies mascara...

after energizing with my Clean and Clear product...

and maybe drink a Diet Coke...

because then I'll be in a fun location with friendly people...

and sun

and happiness...

NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Advertisement overload will be the death of me.

Unless stress is.

No, that won't be it, not if I constantly energize myself!

MUST. USE. PRODUCT.

Now...

Clearly I was raised by very creative wolves.

I have a theory.

I believe that if I was born in London, England (like my father) my life would have followed as such:

Upon my birth, the doctors and nurses would have been blinded by my beauty. My cries would be later called "the most beatiful noise I have ever heard" by none other than the queen. I would have been knighted fourteen hours after my birth (because that would have allowed me to clean myself up a bit) and then I would go home with my mother.

By the age of two I will have conquered the insturment known as the violen. I would have played before crowds of thousands. However, in a fit of boredom brought on by my (would have been) later exposed cocaine addiction, I would have quit the violen and started to play the ukulele and drums. By the age of six I will have fallen out of the public's eyes and into a rehab. I would have gotten out of rehab a few years later and started singing and acting lessons.

By nine I would have reached the top of the British music titles as well as starred in many successful movies where I was nominated or achieved awards.

By fourteen I would have fell back into drugs and a sex addiction.

By sixteen I would have gone through all the rehab I needed and would have written a book on my exploits.

When I turned eighteen I would have moved to America (by suggestion of my agent) where I would become one of the hottest girls in the movie business.

By nineteen or twenty I would have been knocked up with my first child and would have gotten married to the twenty years older than me director that enpregnanted me. Then my husband and I would settle down in England and eventually have four very attractive and successful children.

I would later die at the age of thirty-nine in an accidential small aircraft crash.

Just a few years after my death Ellen Page would star as me in the memior of my life.

And that is my theory.

I feel like my life would have been the most interesting and exciting life in history if I had an accent.

The sad part?

I truly believe this.

I have many theorys.

And this week.

I have decided to share them with all of you.

I have decided to do this because I am moving from the one home I have lived in my entire life and it is okay to commit social suicide when you do that.

Right?

Okay. Here goes.

My favorite theory I have, of course, is the one I have above. But I have others. Like... The alternative of being born in England would have been being born in Australia.

In my opinion.

I would have grown to be a thin, tanned girl who can not only kick a kangaroo's ass, but also get the guy and makeout on a surf board while in the tunnel of a wave.

Again, the accent.

However, not all of my theorys are about me and what I would have been.

I have theorys on many other subjects.

Before I go on I should warn you.

I do not get the typical angel and devil versions of myself on each of my shoulders. No, I get two versions of just plain old me who either get nervous with me or tell me that I am stupid.

For example:

If I think that someone I know likes me more than a friend I often develope a theory about it.

He likes me because he thinks I am so damn funny.... Because I am.....

Shoulder one (My right shoulder) would respond as such:

Oh my god..... You are totally right Berlyn! He does like you!! What should we do...? I mean we have a boyfriend. And we love our boyfriend... But now this. Oh no. Oh my. What should we do?! We should confront him! Shouldn't we?! Do it now!

The other Shoulder would respond:

Shut up Berlyn. You're being a dumbass.

So. Everyonce in a while in this blog I will share with you how my shoulders feel about my theorys.

Moving on.

I think that since I joined a community on youtube the people I watch know me and are good friends with me....

At least this is how I feel when I watch them.

Mostly because I want them to one day, stop, look at the computer and annouce their love for me.

I have a problem.

Another theory I have is that if I were to ever meet Chloe Moretz, Dakota Fanning, or Abigail Breslin I would automatically become their best friends.

1: They would just love all your writing and work Berlyn, they are so cool and great actresses.

2: Please shut up, you're embarrassing all the friends you do have. You're supposed to be an adult.

... I just want them to like me so bad.

I have a theory... Well it's more of a dream. That Quentin Tarantino and Christophor Nolan and all the other directors I love will think I am a badass.

Like I'll say two words and they will just be like... You. Are. Awesome.

Next up.

I have a theory that when Scooter (My dog) winks at me, he is trying to send me a message that I have to decode.

What this message is supposed to do is a mystery to me but I still believe there is one and he has just been waiting for three years for me to figure it out.

(He's three guys.... Not like he woke up one day and was like I NEED TO TELL BERLYN SOMETHING BUT HOW?!?!.... It's more of a... He was a secret agent with a temper who was killed and is trying to avenge (avengee, aevenge, avenege... Ah fuck it.) his death.).

I have a theory that after watching an action movie I automatically achieve the awesome to kick ass.

I have a theory that Hannah Montana is actually Miley Cyrus.... Oh... Wait...

I have a theory that Lady Gaga has a virus that has snaked it's way into the minds of many preformers and has made them stranger than they could have ever possibly been. Like... Their songs don't match up with their videos and they are just generally weird.

It's not a bad virus but. Seriously. Did you see Katy Perry's music video for California Girls? It's in candy land... What does that have to do with California at all?

Is it a metaphor?

California girls are yummy like candy....?

I just don't get how shooting whipped cream from your boobs represents the hottness of California girls.... Or how that would even defeat an army of gummy bears.

And this is exactly how I feel about Lady GAGA....

Why are you making a sandwhich when you are singing about not being able to talk on the phone cause you're in a club?

I used to... Well.... Still do... Have a theory that if I abandon the toys I'm most scared of they will return and kill me.

I believe that Heath Ledger is not dead. It has to be some sort of publicity for the next batman movie. It has to be.

(Hey, at least I don't walk around thinking Elvis is still alive.)

I have a theory that all the kids at Princeton are slightly insane.

I don't know what it is but all their theorys are like ten times stranger than mine.

Shayla told me once that a kid from Princeton wrote a paper on how if we mess with the characteristics of fetus' (Feti? Fetus's.... Wow... I'm so confused...) while they are in the womb soon the unaltered babies and the altered babies will split into two species and will no longer be able to mate.

... Yeah. Sounds pretty crazy to my theory on altering fetus' in the womb:

It could cure many illnesses and problems. Like down syndrome, for instance, could be whiped off the planet starting in the womb.

Not crazy at all.

Rather genius in fact.

I believe that the zodiac killer was not one person, but many copy-cats.

I have a theory that sex jokes are hidden in nearly everything now adays... Even the cartoons we loved back in the good old days.

I think I would have enjoyed the Jonas Brothers more if they never went through disney to achieve fame.

I have a theory that if I was not afraid of the dark I would be able to acomplish more. Like. Space exploration. Abandoned place exploration. Sleeping without hyperventillating first.

I also think that if I had never been afraid of the dark I would have never gotten as many phobias as I have now.

Following that theory. I think it is okay to have a lot of phobias as long as they don't ruin you friendships.

I have a theory that the ateroid belt was a planet once upon a time.

1: Well. It does have the same compound as Earth and stuff. Maybe people lived there once! Then it exploded!

2: Really guys? Really? Calm down, you don't even like space.

I have a theory that if I was a lesbian I would have already married Kim and done all I could to make her the happiest girl in the world.

... Cause she deserves it :)

I have a theory that in another life I listened to the insane gabbleings of many famous philosophers.

And I could spell.

I have a theory that I would have liked the lord of the flies much more if Simon hadn't been killed.

I also have a theory that Honors and AP language classes intentinally choose books that kill off important characters just so they can relate to religion, society, and the past (or actual events) which pissed off all students.

... I still have no idea what happened to Tom (which pisses me off everyday of my life).

And finally.

I have a theory that without all of my little theorys I would have never been me.

I mean think about it.

If I had been born in England I would have never sat down thought about all the possibilities in life. All the tiny little curiousities that hide in the alley ways of every person's mind. I would have never stopped walking around to open a box that was stacked in one of those alley ways to see some sort of evidence that could form an idea, a plan, and a life changing experience.

If I had been born in England I would have never met all the friends I have now. I would not have met Kim or any of my friends from my high school career.

Sure.

I would have had friends. I mean, everybody has at least one friend.

But it wouldn't have been the same.

And without the theory of living an extravagent life because of an accent I would have never stopped to think:

Hey. What's being knighted going to feel like if I can't have my other half to be with me in all of my fun travels? Sure I will have a high honor but who will squeal excitedly with me? It just wouldn't be as fun as it would be with Kim.

And seriously what fun is it to come out of rehab with no friends waiting to pick you up cause you don't have a car (because it has been in the shop forever). No fun at all. What's even going to parties if I can't drag a friend along with me.

And I don't want to marry a man twenty years older than me. I love being with Axl now, and I know that I would feel that empty space at one point in my extravagent British life.

See? All these theorys may piss people off, start fights, enduse giggling, and set a flame to conversations but without them I would never notice just how good of a life I have. Just how special I am. Just how lucky I always have been.

I'm going to go eat breakfast now and watch the hour long special of Phineas and Ferb.

Peace :)

- Berlyn

P.S. Share a theory with us?

“A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway.”

Since kindergarten, I have always made it a point to somehow mark my friends in my yearbook. Every year. I usually underline their names. Freshman year of high school's yearbook had Sharpied smiley faces next to my friends. I usually color coat the markings, too. One color for acquaintances and semi-good friends, another color for really good and best friends. Even this year, I kept up the tradition (though admittedly, I felt a little silly this time around).

I'm not sure why I have always felt the need to label my friends in the annual book. I know they're my friends - shouldn't that be enough? I guess maybe I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget that I had friends, and I don't want to forget who those friends are. I'm not sure where the line is drawn (literally) between an acquaintance/okay-friend (color one) and a close/best friend (color two). What made me look at a certain photograph and say, "Ope, gotta switch markers!"?

Friendship (or any kind of relationship, but that's beside the point) is something I spend hours and hours every week thinking about. I write about friends in my diary (yeah, I still have a diary too. I don't write in it as often as I did several years ago, but still), talk about friends to other friends, and daydream about where friendships are (and are not) headed. Heck, I've even written an article for the school newspaper on the difference between a true best friend and a fake little BFF!!!!1!!!1!!<3:)

But take off the "best" title, and what is the difference between an acquaintance, a buddy, and a friend? I have so many acquaintances, and I always find myself yearning to be great friends with most of them. This goes back to what Berlyn and I have in common - wanting everybody to love us.

But not everybody loves me. Most people don't. And drawing a special colored line under their school photograph isn't going to change that. If only it was that easy...

I'm the first to admit that I care about more people much more than they care about me. And most of the time I'm more than okay with that. There are so many different kinds of "friends," and I care very much about all of mine. Let me fill you in on the ULTIMATE KNOWLEDGE that is my view on friendships.

When you're little, friendship is kind of formed on convenience. Sure, you're not as likely to go up to the cross-eyed kid who screams at inanimate objects while guzzling down a bucket of paste, but really, there isn't a ton of appearance-based judging going on in kindergarten. Mostly everyone is friends with everyone.

At a very early headstart, Ryan and I were close friends with another set of twins who were born the day after we were. Rachel and Elizabeth. We shared a birthday celebration with a magician. I don't remember them much. Our parents were friends and then decided we were friends too. Case closed. Moving on to where I had some say, Kelsey Spears became my best friend when I was old enough to actually talk and venture on my own. We played Barbies together, made crafts together, and she taught me how to swing on a playset without being pushed. Still, at that age, I didn't have a set of qualities I looked for in a friend.

I moved in kindergarten. Nichole Berg was my new neighbor and my new best friend. We had sleepovers and I wished I lived with her. She convinced me that my house was haunted. They always had junk food that I never had and they always had the newest toys. We were best friends, but it was still that childhood kind of friendship that wasn't really based on anything.

Over the years, I have gone through a lot of "best friends." My longest solid friendship is with Tasha, who put up with me through my bossy years, my parents' divorce, and my pathetic depressed years. She became friends with me about the same time that people actually started forming cliques. I broke off from some of my friends (who are now the people who exist purely to party and get drunk, so I'm not missing out) when popularity became a factor. I'm so glad I did.

Anyway.

There are the fun friends. You know, the ones you go to just when you need to release some energy. In the mood for an adventure? Go to your FUN FRIEND! Wanna go celebrate Thirsty Thursday? (If you're into that kinda stuff.) Fun friend, you've got a date! Have a giggle fit, go on a road trip, shop 'til you drop, whatever. Fun friends are something I really do appreciate because, well, they're fun. I'm a stressed out girl who mainly focuses on grades and my abundance of problems. I need a fun friend or two to keep me saaaaaaneeee..... (eh? what's that?)

Then there are the Shoulder Givers. Always there for you when you're going through a rough time. Advice is their forte and they truly care about your well-being. And you may care about theirs, too! They'll pick you up a pint of ice cream and tell you how much better you are than the people causing you distress. By the time they're done with their job, you'll probably have stopped crying (or yelling, or headbanging, or jogging in place, binging, drooling, staring blankly at walls, or whatever you do when you're upset) and feel better. Job well done, Shoulder Giver.

What about the ones who seem like really good friends but only want you to do what THEY think is right? Those are my favorite. But I won't get into that now. Good friends listen to you and stay friends with you even when they disagree with what you're doing or what you want to do. Many times, I disagree with the actions some of my friends make. I disagree, and sometimes I tell them that. I may not understand their decisions, but I accept them and stay friends if at all possible. That doesn't make me the best friend ever, but that's what I like in a friend. Someone who stays with me through my craziness, my awkwardness, my insecurities, my 97mph mood swings, my quirks, etcetera... even when they haven't the slightest clue as to why I'm doing what I'm doing.

I like a friend who is the Fun Friend and the Shoulder Giver. Michelle and Bri once rushed over to my house, urged me to stop crying on my couch, bought me Ben and Jerry's, and then crazily drove me around and went on an adventure. The music was blaring and we were singing (terribly, might I add) while we drove past the houses of ex boyfriends and ex flings. This is Shoulder Giver and Fun Friend multiplied and tied into a pretty package of Best Friend (color number two).

I'm aware that I am not being a Fun Friend right now, and this post is not nearly as entertaining as my dear friend Berlyn. But in my awkwardness and silliness is a girl who just really truly wants to have some fantastic friendships. I wish I had met and conversed with everybody during high school, so that the entire yearbook would have been covered with my abnormal color-coated lines. But hey, at least I know what to look for in college.

A rainbow of various types of friends...
:)


Kimberlyn forever, because we understand what our friendship truly is without defining it.

-Kim

BONUS! KimBerlyn Family Photo :)

Left to right: (back) Kim, Berlyn, Matt (Front) Fred, Ricky, KimBerlyn Jr. (ish)

** Matt is in the photo cause he commented first on my last blog (not the one posted today but two weeks ago...)

-Berlyn

I did not have sex with that woman... But I mess around with a few of them Hollywood girls....

I want to play a game.

Seriously. I mean, do you want to know some crazy shit? Last week, Kim (my other half) wrote the blog LIVE FROM CALIFORNIA.

Which makes my blog post...

LIVE FROM CALIFORNIA!

.... Again......

It would be so much cooler if the blog had been posted LIVE from different places... You know? But it seems that the blog only has two homes currently: Washington and California.

.... Moving on....

What's my point for telling all of you that the blog has now, officially been posted from California twice.... What was the purpose of telling you that I wanted to play a game? Well my friends... Since my blog post is the SECOND blog post from California...

I've decided to make things a little interesting.

I'm going to make all of you an offer you cannot refuse.

Are you good at counting? Do you like movies? Do you like quotes? Because since I am officially forty minutes away from Hollywood I have decided that I am going to hide a bunch of populr movie quotes in my blog post.

If you find all of them and send me all the quotes and the name of the picture they can be found in you win the grand prize (TBA).

If you guess or find the right number of movie quotes you get the second first place prize.... (Also TBA).

What do you need to do to enter?

Just email us at AwkwardConfessions@gmail.com with your entry. I, personally, like to be amused so if you wish to type a witty thing up in the subject box as the heading of your submission feel free.

Before I move on... You all understand... Correct?

Quotes. Prizes. Fun. SECOND post from California.

Get it? Got it? Good!

I know what you all are thinking now...

Berlyn... What could you possibly write about now that you have started your blog off in such a way that resembles a game show? WHERE COULD YOU POSSIBLY GO FROM HERE?!

Well, friends, I am going ramble, rant, raggle-muffin, and throw a ruckus about anything that comes to my mind.

.................................. So kind of like stream of conciousness (Causisness, Conciousness, consisness?... Ah fuck it....) but more Berlyn-like... So more of a panic attack.

You ready?

I have to prepare my self....

The future... Failure... The dark.... gross stuff under your nails... stuff in my hair.... stuff in my hair.... retainer in water.... the world is ending... THE WORLD IS ENDING!

Alright I'm ready.

First of I want to say that I am terrified for what is to come. School is scary, moving out is scary and even furniture is scary.

Why can't I be a normal kid and want a normal college experience no farther than a hundred miles away from home?

Why do I want to become a screenwriter when most of my friends want to help people? Doctors, teachers, health trainers....

I mean seriously?

Who looks at Berlyn Lee and thinks:

I'll have what she's having?

No one most likly.

People are probably going to walk into the apartment that I just rented today (which I kind of, really, love..) And think.... She's gonna need a bigger boat.

Inside I wanna be like SO WHAT?! I'M MOTHERFUCKIN RICKY JAMES BITCH! But in reality I would feel all upset about it and say nothing. I just hope in the end that I can push away that upset feeling and be happy... I hope I can.

These past few months my mom has been saying that life is like a box of chocolates. You never really know what you're going to get. But I do, at least a small part of me feels like I have found my home.

Sure. To all my friends in Washington I can promise you that every once in a while I'll be back but really... I want to make California my home for a while. I like it here already.

I mean... It's just so fluffy.

And by fluffy I mean diverse.

And though things will get rough.... There's always a tomorrow. It's only a day away.

Moving on.

So do you feel lucky? Well do ya punk?!

.... Man I wish I was black sometimes. Then I could be true gangster without really trying. Is that racist? Probably. Oh well. I mean, I love being british, don't get me wrong... But it's much harder to be a gangster and be white. It's just not easy... At all. Maybe that's just me though. Gangster at heart but soft outside.

I mean. I can't fight. I'd probably cry and tell the cops everything. And I could not wear baggy pants... I like the tight fitting ones.

And I talk a lot. And rule one is that you never talk about fight club.

... It's also rule three.

I know what you all are thinking.

Berlyn, that's the cryteria for GUY gangsters.

Yeah... Well... You want to see the GIRL cryteria?!

-Short tops that show your tummy.

-Sex with gang members

-LONG curly hair

-Fighting (less guns more nails....)

-A good amount of sex appeal

-And a very wide vocabulary for cat fights.

That whore... Skank.... Bitch....

That lint licker.....

Maybe I could just hang out with everyone and not really be in the gang but hang with gangsters... Making me a gangster....

I could be like a refferee (uhhhhh spelling is hard) or something.

GENTLE MEN PLEASE! You can't fight in here! This is the war room!

Yeah... Good gig for me.

Again, moving on.

I'm a little paranoid that I'm boring you. Saying things and throwing movie quotes about.... Some of them aren't even movie quotes... But they count. What should I talk about now?

I want to advertise this blog. I'm going to make stickers and place them all over the city and stuff. This way we get more attention. More love.

And we all know how much Kim and I love being loved :)

Damn it's hot in this room... My mom closed the window. I mean god, my the force be with me. It's hella hot in here. And I'm kind of exhausted... That's probably adding to the whole thing.

So I'm going to go to sleep.

My next blog will be written in Washington but after September 1st ALL OF MY BLOGS WILL BE WRITTEN FROM GOOD OL' CALIFORNIA.

I'm so excited :D

e-mail us your entries for the contest to the email address above.

I will inform you who has won in the comments or on facebook.... The I will personally deliver your girfts.

Love,

Berlyn

P.S. Kim... How do you feel about stickers?