Good morning! We hope everyone made it through Monday (it was quite rainy and dreary for us). We woke up this morning with some awesome news, though: our music is on iTunes! AHH! How awesome is that? Please check it out, tell your friends, and listen, listen, listen! Let us know what you think and help spread the word! Thank you for your continued support and encouragement. This is just the beginning for all of us, and we hope you're with us the entire way.
Xx, Beau + Luci
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Also available at Google Play!
June 25, 2013
June 18, 2013
Introducing Me: Part 2
Hey!
My name is Beau. I'm fifteen years old and from Waycross, Georgia. I'm the middle of three children, proud mother of Zooey and Craigy, my beloved yorkie-poo and beta fish. I've been given the opportunity to have you get to know me better and hopefully to get to know you as well.
I was actually a very quiet child, not even speaking until I was two years old. I was raised by a stay-at-home Mom and a very busy accountant Dad. I spent almost my entire elementary and middle school scholastic career trying my very best not to do any more talking than necessary. As you can imagine, being that I didn't talk, I didn't make very many friends; no enemies, but no friends, either. I kept to myself and focused all of my time and energy on school work, church, and my family, something I could never regret doing. So I guess that you could say from an early age, I noticed that I didn't click with other kids my age. Things were supposed to make sense and making friends was supposed to be easy, but instead, it became just another thing I dreaded. My parents were desperate for me to have a little bit of social interaction, though, so I ended up playing softball from the time that I could hold a bat. I made friends with the other girls, but there was always something that separated us, something that made me not fit so well. It's like I was a puzzle piece that could fit where I was at but would always be a little out of place. Nonetheless, softball was a major part of my life until I got hurt. Following my injury, I made up my mind to be home schooled, beginning in the seventh grade.
This only made the gap between me and other kids my age even larger, further ostracizing me from the bulk of interaction which, to be honest, didn't bother me. Like I said, I was incredibly shy and didn't make friends easily. I was twelve when I realized I wanted more for my life than to be an accountant, a veterinarian, or a lawyer. I wanted to be anything that could get me to a place where things happen on a larger scale. My sister, Luci, had already begun singing and acting in church at the time (we later found out she was inspired to do so with the eventual goal of becoming Mrs. Nick Jonas) and eventually, I faked up enough courage to join her. We decided to sing together quickly, and the rest is history. For once in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere, doing something. I knew something from the time that I sang for the first time. I can't actually tell you what I knew, because I don't actually know yet. I just know that it felt right and it felt like no matter how hard it was going to be, I was in it for life. I knew, and still know, that the road to making a career out of this is going to be increasingly hard. It's going to take work everyday-work that not everyone else has to do-because we're not going to do what everyone else is going to do.
My sister made the first move with our parents, as I was terrified of being told no. For some reason, our parents didn't laugh at us. My mom was particularly supportive from the get-go; my dad assumed it was some phase we were going through, similar to the ones of being princesses and zombie slayers that we'd previously voiced. Eventually, though, he got on board and realized that we were one hundred percent serious about this. Now, nearly five years later, there have been moments that I honestly wonder, "What on earth could I possibly be thinking, trying to make something out of nothing?" But then, there are other moments that it all becomes worth it, worth all of the blood, sweat, tears, hopes, and dreams we've put into this thing, because we've known forever that we were different. The rest of it is really just details. We weren't raised in a musically gifted home, but somehow, music is who we are, who I am. It's who I am, and if I get to spend the rest of my life proving that to everyone else, then I'd count myself as one of the lucky ones. I know that this is just the very beginning of something fantastic, and I'm just glad that I get to share this with everyone I know.
But now that you know practically every detail of my childhood, let me tell you about me in the present. I'm not anywhere close to being as eloquent of a writer as my best friend, Luci(fer), but you'll just have to suffer through with me, and I swear I'll try and make it short! I'm a singer a song writer, fairy-tale lover, dreamer, a literature-addict, and a dragon slayer. Contrary to the female stereotype, I can be completely happy with some music, a good book, and some Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea. I've read To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee on the upside of seven times, and I've never gotten tired of it, as it is one of my favorite books in the whole orld. I've got a bad habit of being completely lost in books and living in a continuous book hangover, oftentimes mourning the deaths of my favorite characters (enter: Finnick Odair.) I loved Steven Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, in both book and movie form, as well as the entire Percy Jackson series (Okay, who else cannot WAIT until Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters comes out?!) and a certain post-apocalyptic death match series (The Hunger Games). I'm a massive Warm Bodies fan (freaking R,, okay?), and an even bigger Harry Potter fan (No one wanted Umbridge dead more than this girl right here.) I sometimes wake up at six o'clock in the morning and turn on old favorites like The Lion King, Mulan, Cinderella, and Snow White, and all those other Disney movies, because I definitely never grew out of them. I watch a mix of television shows, like Pretty Little Liars (anyone else missing Holden and Mike?), FRIENDS, The Lying Game, River Monsters (okay, Jeremy is a beast.), Impractical Jokers, and my all time favorite: Alaska State Troopers.
Being a singer makes it 100% impossible to not absolutely adore all music and respect almost every artist (well, those who are worthy of respect, anyways) and listen to really, really broad spectrum of music. Some of my favorite artists are The Ramones, Maroon 5, Rihanna, Marina and the Diamonds, The Dixie Chicks, Olly Murs, Pixie Lott, One Direction, Little Mix (Zerrie!), Ke$ha, Avril Lavigne, Cher Lloyd, Ed Sheeran, and Coldplay. I love my family, and I have a very close knit group of friends that I absolutely adore. I'm a firm believer in the luck of the Irish, an insufferable romantic, a frequent user of sarcasm, and I live to make Mr. Rogers proud.
Thanks for all of your support and love. Here's hoping that it lasts forever!
Eggo Waffles and Guten tag; I wish you good sleeps and mental health,
x - Beau
My name is Beau. I'm fifteen years old and from Waycross, Georgia. I'm the middle of three children, proud mother of Zooey and Craigy, my beloved yorkie-poo and beta fish. I've been given the opportunity to have you get to know me better and hopefully to get to know you as well.
I was actually a very quiet child, not even speaking until I was two years old. I was raised by a stay-at-home Mom and a very busy accountant Dad. I spent almost my entire elementary and middle school scholastic career trying my very best not to do any more talking than necessary. As you can imagine, being that I didn't talk, I didn't make very many friends; no enemies, but no friends, either. I kept to myself and focused all of my time and energy on school work, church, and my family, something I could never regret doing. So I guess that you could say from an early age, I noticed that I didn't click with other kids my age. Things were supposed to make sense and making friends was supposed to be easy, but instead, it became just another thing I dreaded. My parents were desperate for me to have a little bit of social interaction, though, so I ended up playing softball from the time that I could hold a bat. I made friends with the other girls, but there was always something that separated us, something that made me not fit so well. It's like I was a puzzle piece that could fit where I was at but would always be a little out of place. Nonetheless, softball was a major part of my life until I got hurt. Following my injury, I made up my mind to be home schooled, beginning in the seventh grade.
This only made the gap between me and other kids my age even larger, further ostracizing me from the bulk of interaction which, to be honest, didn't bother me. Like I said, I was incredibly shy and didn't make friends easily. I was twelve when I realized I wanted more for my life than to be an accountant, a veterinarian, or a lawyer. I wanted to be anything that could get me to a place where things happen on a larger scale. My sister, Luci, had already begun singing and acting in church at the time (we later found out she was inspired to do so with the eventual goal of becoming Mrs. Nick Jonas) and eventually, I faked up enough courage to join her. We decided to sing together quickly, and the rest is history. For once in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere, doing something. I knew something from the time that I sang for the first time. I can't actually tell you what I knew, because I don't actually know yet. I just know that it felt right and it felt like no matter how hard it was going to be, I was in it for life. I knew, and still know, that the road to making a career out of this is going to be increasingly hard. It's going to take work everyday-work that not everyone else has to do-because we're not going to do what everyone else is going to do.
My sister made the first move with our parents, as I was terrified of being told no. For some reason, our parents didn't laugh at us. My mom was particularly supportive from the get-go; my dad assumed it was some phase we were going through, similar to the ones of being princesses and zombie slayers that we'd previously voiced. Eventually, though, he got on board and realized that we were one hundred percent serious about this. Now, nearly five years later, there have been moments that I honestly wonder, "What on earth could I possibly be thinking, trying to make something out of nothing?" But then, there are other moments that it all becomes worth it, worth all of the blood, sweat, tears, hopes, and dreams we've put into this thing, because we've known forever that we were different. The rest of it is really just details. We weren't raised in a musically gifted home, but somehow, music is who we are, who I am. It's who I am, and if I get to spend the rest of my life proving that to everyone else, then I'd count myself as one of the lucky ones. I know that this is just the very beginning of something fantastic, and I'm just glad that I get to share this with everyone I know.
But now that you know practically every detail of my childhood, let me tell you about me in the present. I'm not anywhere close to being as eloquent of a writer as my best friend, Luci(fer), but you'll just have to suffer through with me, and I swear I'll try and make it short! I'm a singer a song writer, fairy-tale lover, dreamer, a literature-addict, and a dragon slayer. Contrary to the female stereotype, I can be completely happy with some music, a good book, and some Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea. I've read To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee on the upside of seven times, and I've never gotten tired of it, as it is one of my favorite books in the whole orld. I've got a bad habit of being completely lost in books and living in a continuous book hangover, oftentimes mourning the deaths of my favorite characters (enter: Finnick Odair.) I loved Steven Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, in both book and movie form, as well as the entire Percy Jackson series (Okay, who else cannot WAIT until Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters comes out?!) and a certain post-apocalyptic death match series (The Hunger Games). I'm a massive Warm Bodies fan (freaking R,, okay?), and an even bigger Harry Potter fan (No one wanted Umbridge dead more than this girl right here.) I sometimes wake up at six o'clock in the morning and turn on old favorites like The Lion King, Mulan, Cinderella, and Snow White, and all those other Disney movies, because I definitely never grew out of them. I watch a mix of television shows, like Pretty Little Liars (anyone else missing Holden and Mike?), FRIENDS, The Lying Game, River Monsters (okay, Jeremy is a beast.), Impractical Jokers, and my all time favorite: Alaska State Troopers.
Being a singer makes it 100% impossible to not absolutely adore all music and respect almost every artist (well, those who are worthy of respect, anyways) and listen to really, really broad spectrum of music. Some of my favorite artists are The Ramones, Maroon 5, Rihanna, Marina and the Diamonds, The Dixie Chicks, Olly Murs, Pixie Lott, One Direction, Little Mix (Zerrie!), Ke$ha, Avril Lavigne, Cher Lloyd, Ed Sheeran, and Coldplay. I love my family, and I have a very close knit group of friends that I absolutely adore. I'm a firm believer in the luck of the Irish, an insufferable romantic, a frequent user of sarcasm, and I live to make Mr. Rogers proud.
Thanks for all of your support and love. Here's hoping that it lasts forever!
Eggo Waffles and Guten tag; I wish you good sleeps and mental health,
x - Beau
June 12, 2013
Introducing Me: Part 1
Hi!
My name is Luci. I'm 18 years old and from Waycross, Georgia. I'm the oldest of three kids, mommy to Charlie, my miniature Schnoodle, and lover of F. Scott Fitzgerald, strawberries, and Marvel movies. While some of you may know all of this, I wanted to take the time to let you get to know me better, and, in turn, give me the chance to get to know you better as well.
My parents discovered that I had spectacular lungs about two seconds after I was born. I started screaming in the hospital and didn't stop for four years. Maybe five, depending on who you're asking. I like to think that those years of driving my parents to the point of insanity were just training for the future, but I'm not sure that Mama or Daddy would agree with me. Despite this very loud entrance into the world, I was extremely shy. The idea of being around new people or being in front of people was enough to paralyze me. I forgot how to talk or walk. I usually just cried in these situations. I spent the first thirteen and a half years of my life doing everything in my power to avoid the spotlight. I kept my head down, minded my own business, and never opened my mouth. I sat in the back of classrooms, not because I was a troublemaker, but because I was desperate to be ignored. I had a single goal, and that was to be as invisible as I could possibly be. Everything changed when I was thirteen and a half.
I would love to say that I had some grand epiphany, where the Spirit of the Lord descended upon me and said, "Lucille, you are going to be a singer. I give you all the courage and confidence and ability to sing any song tossed your way, to stand in front of any crowd, and to raise any roof holding you down." Not quite. In fact, the desire stemmed from a belief that I was going to marry Nick Jonas. I wanted to meet him, because I was sure if I did, he would fall unconditionally and irrevocably in love with me. And while that may be one of the most embarrassing and humbling admissions I've made, I do have to thank those three young men for sparking the idea that I was maybe meant to do something more incredible than I'd ever imagined. Combined with my general lack of ability to do anything even relatively interesting or impressive, the desire to someday be Mrs. Nick Jonas was enough to make me start thinking. And then came this inexhaustible, persistent, outright aggravating little feeling that this wouldn't be a phase I passed through. Even at thirteen, I knew the difference. I'd been through a LOT of phases.
I wrestled with that feeling for a long time. Like I said, my goal was anonymity. Being a singer would not help me out in accomplishing that goal. But the harder I tried to ignore it, to find contentment in the things I'd always done, the more restless and irritated I got. What business did I, of all people, have in thinking that I could be a singer? I was a nobody, from the middle of nowhere, with no talent, no training, no connections, and no idea whatsoever what I was doing. It was crazy. Completely mad. I was losing my mind, obviously. Trying to be something I wasn't. Yet there that feeling was. Knocking, whispering, poking me in the side, whacking me over the head with a two-by-four.
I remember the night I finally came to the decision to tell Mama I felt like Beau and I were being called to be singers I'll lay things out for you: a painfully shy 8th grader from Waycross who couldn't even answer questions in class without getting woozy approached her mother with the announcement that the Lord had placed a divine calling on her life. To be a singer. No, Mom, I haven't had anything funny to eat. Yes, I feel fine. No fever. Hallucinatory drugs? What are those? I was beyond terrified. I just knew she would laugh, tell me to be realistic. It was and is absolutely insane. How in God's name would a girl like ME become a successful singer? It's been almost five years and I'm still clueless. All I know to do is work hard and trust in God. One thing that has stuck with me is the saying that God doesn't call the qualified. He qualifies the called. I'm definitely not qualified, but I am the called. I don't know where God is going with this. I just know one thing: He is able, and I am willing to go where He sends me. And if that place is the top of the charts...well, who am I to complain?
Mama didn't laugh, and neither did Daddy, when I came clean. Oh, they were shocked. Geez, I was in shock! It was not something any of us had ever considered taking on. My parents were athletes. They coached softball and basketball and baseball. Daddy was an incredible drummer in high school and college, but he'd given it up before he and Mama got married. Mama was definitely not a singer (she always says she makes deaf people thankful they're deaf). Despite the unfamiliar territory, they looked me and Beau in the eyes and said that as long as we were willing to give our all, they would do anything and everything to help us every step of the way. It didn't matter that we were a pair of nobodies from nowhere. In that moment, I think all four of us saw it. We just had to figure out how to get there.
Four and a half years later, there have been bumps in the road, times of hopelessness and despair, aggravation, irritation, frustration, and near surrender. And scales. More scales than I ever want to do ever again, though I see years of them stretching out in front of me. They're both a curse and a blessing, but like strength or speed training for an athlete, they are a necessary evil. I've even got to the point that triad melodies and nine note scales give me a sense of peace. They are familiar and a part of me, just like my stack of lyric notebooks and the playlist that never stops in my mind. Singing is a part of me. Actually, I take that back. Singing is who I am. I am a singer. I have waited 18 years to say that, and I'm going to say it for the rest of my life. I am a singer. I am a singer. This is what I do. This is my job. This is my career. This is what I have been called to do, what I have been and will continue working towards. This is my passion, the thing that fills my soul with greater joy and sorrow that I've ever experienced. This is the most incredible thing I've ever done. And the best part? This is just the beginning. Isn't that exciting?
I meant to take this time to tell you more about myself, and I guess I have, as singing is a huge part of me. But now that I've waxed poetic about the dream my sister and I share, I will tell you a bit about myself. (Beau will be on soon to tell her side of the story. I'm excited to read it. She's a very...creative writer.)I am a singer, a writer, and a prolific reader. I love F. Scott Fitzgerald, Harper Lee, and John Grisham. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is my favorite book and movie, and I named my dog (a miniature poodle-schnauzer mix) Charlie, after the main character. However, I love fairy tales and books about magic, heroes, and post-apocalyptic battles between children the most. Peter Pan was my first true love. The Chronicles of Narnia were the first series of books to carry me to a world beyond my imagination. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were my best friends. Percy Jackson is and always will be my hero, and Katniss Everdeen...well, that girl is tough. I don't want to be on her bad side. I get too excited over Disney movies and Disney World. I want to be a mermaid, and I love being near the water, whether it's the pool or the ocean. I believe in magic, love, and Santa Claus. I love poetry, but I'm not very good at writing it. I think that movies should leave you feeling different, and that Friends is the best TV show ever. My favorite color is blue, my favorite singer is Ed Sheeran, and I knew the words to Don't Stop Believing and Fat Bottomed Girls before I knew my ABCs (a wonderful example of quality parenting, I must say). I like all sorts of music, from the oldies (but goodies) Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Journey, Fleetwood Mac, Johnny Cash, and Elvis to mainstream pop bands like One Direction, Little Mix, and Katy Perry to indie bands like Daughter, Lucy Rose, The Lumineers, and Bon Iver. I think Lana Del Rey is the queen, Marina and the Diamonds is brilliant, and The Veronicas are rock goddesses. I love my family more than anything, and I have the best friends I could ever ask for. I plan on being young forever and never growing up. So far, I'm doing pretty well.
I have the tendency to write more than is required (or desired), so I'm going to end here. Please continue to check back, to share us with your friends and family, and to give us a chance to get to know you. Thank you for everything you've already done. We are on a journey, and we're in it together, all the way to the top.
Xx, Luci
My name is Luci. I'm 18 years old and from Waycross, Georgia. I'm the oldest of three kids, mommy to Charlie, my miniature Schnoodle, and lover of F. Scott Fitzgerald, strawberries, and Marvel movies. While some of you may know all of this, I wanted to take the time to let you get to know me better, and, in turn, give me the chance to get to know you better as well.
My parents discovered that I had spectacular lungs about two seconds after I was born. I started screaming in the hospital and didn't stop for four years. Maybe five, depending on who you're asking. I like to think that those years of driving my parents to the point of insanity were just training for the future, but I'm not sure that Mama or Daddy would agree with me. Despite this very loud entrance into the world, I was extremely shy. The idea of being around new people or being in front of people was enough to paralyze me. I forgot how to talk or walk. I usually just cried in these situations. I spent the first thirteen and a half years of my life doing everything in my power to avoid the spotlight. I kept my head down, minded my own business, and never opened my mouth. I sat in the back of classrooms, not because I was a troublemaker, but because I was desperate to be ignored. I had a single goal, and that was to be as invisible as I could possibly be. Everything changed when I was thirteen and a half.
I would love to say that I had some grand epiphany, where the Spirit of the Lord descended upon me and said, "Lucille, you are going to be a singer. I give you all the courage and confidence and ability to sing any song tossed your way, to stand in front of any crowd, and to raise any roof holding you down." Not quite. In fact, the desire stemmed from a belief that I was going to marry Nick Jonas. I wanted to meet him, because I was sure if I did, he would fall unconditionally and irrevocably in love with me. And while that may be one of the most embarrassing and humbling admissions I've made, I do have to thank those three young men for sparking the idea that I was maybe meant to do something more incredible than I'd ever imagined. Combined with my general lack of ability to do anything even relatively interesting or impressive, the desire to someday be Mrs. Nick Jonas was enough to make me start thinking. And then came this inexhaustible, persistent, outright aggravating little feeling that this wouldn't be a phase I passed through. Even at thirteen, I knew the difference. I'd been through a LOT of phases.
I wrestled with that feeling for a long time. Like I said, my goal was anonymity. Being a singer would not help me out in accomplishing that goal. But the harder I tried to ignore it, to find contentment in the things I'd always done, the more restless and irritated I got. What business did I, of all people, have in thinking that I could be a singer? I was a nobody, from the middle of nowhere, with no talent, no training, no connections, and no idea whatsoever what I was doing. It was crazy. Completely mad. I was losing my mind, obviously. Trying to be something I wasn't. Yet there that feeling was. Knocking, whispering, poking me in the side, whacking me over the head with a two-by-four.
I remember the night I finally came to the decision to tell Mama I felt like Beau and I were being called to be singers I'll lay things out for you: a painfully shy 8th grader from Waycross who couldn't even answer questions in class without getting woozy approached her mother with the announcement that the Lord had placed a divine calling on her life. To be a singer. No, Mom, I haven't had anything funny to eat. Yes, I feel fine. No fever. Hallucinatory drugs? What are those? I was beyond terrified. I just knew she would laugh, tell me to be realistic. It was and is absolutely insane. How in God's name would a girl like ME become a successful singer? It's been almost five years and I'm still clueless. All I know to do is work hard and trust in God. One thing that has stuck with me is the saying that God doesn't call the qualified. He qualifies the called. I'm definitely not qualified, but I am the called. I don't know where God is going with this. I just know one thing: He is able, and I am willing to go where He sends me. And if that place is the top of the charts...well, who am I to complain?
Mama didn't laugh, and neither did Daddy, when I came clean. Oh, they were shocked. Geez, I was in shock! It was not something any of us had ever considered taking on. My parents were athletes. They coached softball and basketball and baseball. Daddy was an incredible drummer in high school and college, but he'd given it up before he and Mama got married. Mama was definitely not a singer (she always says she makes deaf people thankful they're deaf). Despite the unfamiliar territory, they looked me and Beau in the eyes and said that as long as we were willing to give our all, they would do anything and everything to help us every step of the way. It didn't matter that we were a pair of nobodies from nowhere. In that moment, I think all four of us saw it. We just had to figure out how to get there.
Four and a half years later, there have been bumps in the road, times of hopelessness and despair, aggravation, irritation, frustration, and near surrender. And scales. More scales than I ever want to do ever again, though I see years of them stretching out in front of me. They're both a curse and a blessing, but like strength or speed training for an athlete, they are a necessary evil. I've even got to the point that triad melodies and nine note scales give me a sense of peace. They are familiar and a part of me, just like my stack of lyric notebooks and the playlist that never stops in my mind. Singing is a part of me. Actually, I take that back. Singing is who I am. I am a singer. I have waited 18 years to say that, and I'm going to say it for the rest of my life. I am a singer. I am a singer. This is what I do. This is my job. This is my career. This is what I have been called to do, what I have been and will continue working towards. This is my passion, the thing that fills my soul with greater joy and sorrow that I've ever experienced. This is the most incredible thing I've ever done. And the best part? This is just the beginning. Isn't that exciting?
I meant to take this time to tell you more about myself, and I guess I have, as singing is a huge part of me. But now that I've waxed poetic about the dream my sister and I share, I will tell you a bit about myself. (Beau will be on soon to tell her side of the story. I'm excited to read it. She's a very...creative writer.)I am a singer, a writer, and a prolific reader. I love F. Scott Fitzgerald, Harper Lee, and John Grisham. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is my favorite book and movie, and I named my dog (a miniature poodle-schnauzer mix) Charlie, after the main character. However, I love fairy tales and books about magic, heroes, and post-apocalyptic battles between children the most. Peter Pan was my first true love. The Chronicles of Narnia were the first series of books to carry me to a world beyond my imagination. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were my best friends. Percy Jackson is and always will be my hero, and Katniss Everdeen...well, that girl is tough. I don't want to be on her bad side. I get too excited over Disney movies and Disney World. I want to be a mermaid, and I love being near the water, whether it's the pool or the ocean. I believe in magic, love, and Santa Claus. I love poetry, but I'm not very good at writing it. I think that movies should leave you feeling different, and that Friends is the best TV show ever. My favorite color is blue, my favorite singer is Ed Sheeran, and I knew the words to Don't Stop Believing and Fat Bottomed Girls before I knew my ABCs (a wonderful example of quality parenting, I must say). I like all sorts of music, from the oldies (but goodies) Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Journey, Fleetwood Mac, Johnny Cash, and Elvis to mainstream pop bands like One Direction, Little Mix, and Katy Perry to indie bands like Daughter, Lucy Rose, The Lumineers, and Bon Iver. I think Lana Del Rey is the queen, Marina and the Diamonds is brilliant, and The Veronicas are rock goddesses. I love my family more than anything, and I have the best friends I could ever ask for. I plan on being young forever and never growing up. So far, I'm doing pretty well.
I have the tendency to write more than is required (or desired), so I'm going to end here. Please continue to check back, to share us with your friends and family, and to give us a chance to get to know you. Thank you for everything you've already done. We are on a journey, and we're in it together, all the way to the top.
Xx, Luci
June 8, 2013
June 7, 2013
Pink Bunnies
When I was six and a half years old, I woke up at 7:15 on a hot, humid August morning. That might have been almost twelve years ago, but I know it was hot and humid because every August day down South is hot and humid. As I was the only one of the kids Mama had to wake up, she didn’t employee her favorite tactic (blasting Jump by Van Halen as loud as the speakers would go). Instead, I was quietly and kindly awoken by a sudden blinding light as the lamps were turned on and the blinds thrown open. The smells of pancakes, coffee, and grits and eggs wafted through the open doorway, and she couldn’t have forced me to stay in my little twin sized bed any longer if she’d wanted to. Even now, food and Van Halen are two of the very few things that will get me out of bed quickly, but as Beau and Mama rarely stumble out of bed before 10, I’m left to my own devices. None of which include food or Van Halen, unfortunately. I’m 18 years old and not allowed to use the kitchen unless I’m being supervised, but that’s another story entirely.
Anyways, as I was saying: 7:15 AM, hot and humid morning, pancakes. Daddy, Mama, and I ate breakfast together that morning, which was totally exciting. I’m the oldest of three kids (6, if you count the four-legged babies), and finding time to spend with just Mama and Daddy can be a challenge. But that morning was all about me, because it was the first day of elementary school.
Other than a brief, disastrous run at Pre-K (once again, another story), I had no formal schooling before that day. Mama liked us at home where she could keep her hands on us at all times-or at least try to-and make sure we weren’t participating in any activities that would turn our brains into “marshmallows.” I basically spent the first six and a half years of my life without ever leaving Mama’s side, which was alright with me. My Mama was my best friend. She still is. So not only was that first day exciting, it was nerve-wracking. I didn’t know how to make friends. I didn’t do well with socializing, either. Ever since I’d mistakenly told some kid at the Burger King playground my middle name was Humdinger, making new friends had lost its appeal. And I only got to eat once the entire time I was at school? I don’t know about you, but this girl did not do well without a snack after breakfast, before lunch, while I was coloring, after I got done coloring, after I pretended to take a nap, and complimentary hors d'oeuvres. A post meal snack was sometimes in order, depending on how I felt.
Let’s just say it was usually in order. And I was an, erm, pleasantly plump kid.
After making sure Mama packed my lunch just like I wanted it, I followed her into my bedroom. We’d spent hours the day before picking out my outfit, and, my goodness, it was perfect. I looked like I’d walked straight off the elementary school runway when I was finished. It was a fabulous outfit, from the white patent leather Mary Jane’s to the big chiffon bow in my hair. It was what would forever be known as The Pink Bunny Outfit.
This divine look du jour consisted of a crocheted skort and vest in the delicate, palest shade of Pepto-Bismal pink ever made. The yarn was woven from cotton candy sheep and embroidered with a family of white bunnies with blue eyes and a basket of Easter eggs in hand. There were flowers, too. And just when it couldn’t get any better, there was a matching white shirt AND purse! I was prepared to be the Queen of the 1st Grade. I couldn’t wear a crown between the bow and my curled, teased, hairsprayed 80’s-esque bangs, but, you know, you can’t have everything. But I was pretty darn close, standing on the cusp of greatness and glory and bunnies.
I was finally ready to go to this new world called elementary school, where apparently I had to sit in my chair for seven hours a day and listen to someone teach me to read. I was totally down with that. I knew how to read already, anyway. I’d show them. I was ready! I was rockin’ and rollin’ even back then. Well, my bangs were, at least. I gathered my backpack with the pride of a gladiator taking up his weapons. I strapped that bunny purse over my shoulder, I buttoned my bunny vest, and I clicked the heels of my white patent leather Mary Jane’s three times. I don’t know why. I was a weird kid.
I loaded into the car with my mom, my two imaginary dogs, Cone-Cone and Mist, and three of my six imaginary siblings: John Wayne, George Bush, and Susie Q (Elvis, Ginger, and Mary Ann were too lazy to get up so early). Susie Q was trouble, but I allowed her to come with me just in case I needed someone to blame things on. She’d already gotten me kicked out of Pre-K, so I was hoping she would do a better job behaving in elementary school. On the way to school, Mama gave me, John Wayne, George Bush, and Susie Q a talk about being nice, raising my hand before I spoke, and saying yes ma’am and no ma’am. I was to behave myself or I’d have to face my Daddy. That alone was enough to make me toe the line, but Susie Q was less intimidated. She liked to push it. I still have to keep a close eye on her these days.
The elementary school was much less awesome than I’d originally thought. I imagined some prestigious manor with columns on the front. This school was a low, sprawling brick building with a green roof. I was too nervous to be disappointed, though, and I clung to Mama’s hand like a lifeline when we walked through the front doors.
There were more kids than I could have imagined in the hallways, some of them crying like they were about to face their doom, others darting here and there, running from their mothers and getting yelled at by their new teachers. Some of them were very tall, and I realized with a sinking feeling that I would be going to school with fifth graders. I grew less and less sure of myself, thinking that I’d settle for Princess of the 1st Grade. Or even just an honorary participant. I wanted to hide behind Mama, run back to the car, and go home to my brother and sister and Elvis, Ginger, and Mary Ann. Susie Q was more than willing to take my place. She was smarter than I was. But I knew, deep down, that I had to do this. I had come too far to quit, and no matter how terrified I was, I would walk through the doors of my classroom pretending I had it all together and that I could handle whatever was thrown at me.
And finally, I saw it: The Door. It was wide open, towards the end of the hall, with a great view of the playground and the soccer fields (where I would suffer through one of the most embarrassing moments of my childhood). Mama asked me if I wanted her to go to my desk with me. I said no. What kind of loser brought her mom into her first grade classroom? Not this one. She kissed me goodbye, and I realized that she wasn’t leaving until I was safely in the classroom. There would be no chance to run out the glass doors at the end of the hall and hide in the playground for a few hours. I had to leave Mama and everything I’d ever been comfortable with and take a massive step into the rest of my life. It was terrifying. And then I was in that doorway, and there were twenty-four other kids sitting in their desks, staring at me. Some were still crying, others had that devilish look about them that teachers dreaded, and there were even a few who were wearing clothes almost as fabulous as mine. But they all looked at me, and I felt frozen under the weight of their gazes. They were waiting, watching, expecting. Would I freeze up? Would I choke under the pressure and cry? Or would I walk with grim determination to the empty desk with my name on it, taking my rightful place as the Queen of the First Grade?
I cried. But so did like ten other kids, so I wasn’t the only one whose mom had to hug and comfort them until there was nothing but hiccups and red eyes that begged to be brought home. And for some reason, that day has stayed with me. I never understood it. It was just the first day of first grade. Who cares? Not many other people, or so it seems. Why would I remember that crocheted bunny outfit with the matching purse and white patent leather Mary Jane’s? For a long time, I didn’t know. It was just there, in the back of my mind, with a few other significant, irrelevant memories that are just waiting for me to understand. But then, a few months ago, I started to get it.
There I was, six and a half years old, completely new and fresh, unaware of the bad in the world. I believed in fairy tales, magic, and the Tooth Fairy. I believed that the Easter Bunny brought eggs. I didn’t know where they came from or why that particular pairing was made, but I believed in him. I thought my Daddy could lift up houses and cars and that my Mama was the most beautiful woman in the world. And I was completely unprepared for the new world I’d been thrust into.
And now, here I am, eighteen years old, not quite as new and fresh, a little more aware of the bad in the world. I still believe in fairy tales and magic, but the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny started creeping me out so I crossed them off the list. I still think my Daddy is a superhero and my Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world. I am hovering on the edge of a potentially life changing path, completely unprepared. Every step of the way, I have been at an absolute loss, scrambling to cover my mistakes for fear someone would see them and realize just how average I truly am. There is nothing spectacular about me, my writing abilities, my voice. I’m just this kid whose biggest fear is growing up and who, four and a half years ago, announced to my parents that I wanted to be a singer. I didn’t know what would happen, or if anything would happen at all. I’ve been in a battle to the death with a dreadfully optimistic hope that our time would come and a deep seated fear that it never will. But more than anything, there is a thirst in me for the music. It’s like everything else I do in life is routine. Boring. But when I hear that music, I’m suddenly alive. Every bit of my heart and soul and brain is on fire, and I feel so much that I can’t help but open my lips and let it fly out. Nothing on Earth will ever compare to that moment when you close your eyes and feel the music rather than hear it. When the chills run down your spine and you smile and you understand what the words are saying. And then, when you open your eyes to find your sister looking back at you with the same expression on her face, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve actually got a shot, and you feel sick to your stomach with the combination of terror and ecstasy, and there is an all-consuming desire for it to be you. Maybe, just maybe, it will be.
Xx, Luci
Anyways, as I was saying: 7:15 AM, hot and humid morning, pancakes. Daddy, Mama, and I ate breakfast together that morning, which was totally exciting. I’m the oldest of three kids (6, if you count the four-legged babies), and finding time to spend with just Mama and Daddy can be a challenge. But that morning was all about me, because it was the first day of elementary school.
Other than a brief, disastrous run at Pre-K (once again, another story), I had no formal schooling before that day. Mama liked us at home where she could keep her hands on us at all times-or at least try to-and make sure we weren’t participating in any activities that would turn our brains into “marshmallows.” I basically spent the first six and a half years of my life without ever leaving Mama’s side, which was alright with me. My Mama was my best friend. She still is. So not only was that first day exciting, it was nerve-wracking. I didn’t know how to make friends. I didn’t do well with socializing, either. Ever since I’d mistakenly told some kid at the Burger King playground my middle name was Humdinger, making new friends had lost its appeal. And I only got to eat once the entire time I was at school? I don’t know about you, but this girl did not do well without a snack after breakfast, before lunch, while I was coloring, after I got done coloring, after I pretended to take a nap, and complimentary hors d'oeuvres. A post meal snack was sometimes in order, depending on how I felt.
Let’s just say it was usually in order. And I was an, erm, pleasantly plump kid.
After making sure Mama packed my lunch just like I wanted it, I followed her into my bedroom. We’d spent hours the day before picking out my outfit, and, my goodness, it was perfect. I looked like I’d walked straight off the elementary school runway when I was finished. It was a fabulous outfit, from the white patent leather Mary Jane’s to the big chiffon bow in my hair. It was what would forever be known as The Pink Bunny Outfit.
This divine look du jour consisted of a crocheted skort and vest in the delicate, palest shade of Pepto-Bismal pink ever made. The yarn was woven from cotton candy sheep and embroidered with a family of white bunnies with blue eyes and a basket of Easter eggs in hand. There were flowers, too. And just when it couldn’t get any better, there was a matching white shirt AND purse! I was prepared to be the Queen of the 1st Grade. I couldn’t wear a crown between the bow and my curled, teased, hairsprayed 80’s-esque bangs, but, you know, you can’t have everything. But I was pretty darn close, standing on the cusp of greatness and glory and bunnies.
I was finally ready to go to this new world called elementary school, where apparently I had to sit in my chair for seven hours a day and listen to someone teach me to read. I was totally down with that. I knew how to read already, anyway. I’d show them. I was ready! I was rockin’ and rollin’ even back then. Well, my bangs were, at least. I gathered my backpack with the pride of a gladiator taking up his weapons. I strapped that bunny purse over my shoulder, I buttoned my bunny vest, and I clicked the heels of my white patent leather Mary Jane’s three times. I don’t know why. I was a weird kid.
I loaded into the car with my mom, my two imaginary dogs, Cone-Cone and Mist, and three of my six imaginary siblings: John Wayne, George Bush, and Susie Q (Elvis, Ginger, and Mary Ann were too lazy to get up so early). Susie Q was trouble, but I allowed her to come with me just in case I needed someone to blame things on. She’d already gotten me kicked out of Pre-K, so I was hoping she would do a better job behaving in elementary school. On the way to school, Mama gave me, John Wayne, George Bush, and Susie Q a talk about being nice, raising my hand before I spoke, and saying yes ma’am and no ma’am. I was to behave myself or I’d have to face my Daddy. That alone was enough to make me toe the line, but Susie Q was less intimidated. She liked to push it. I still have to keep a close eye on her these days.
The elementary school was much less awesome than I’d originally thought. I imagined some prestigious manor with columns on the front. This school was a low, sprawling brick building with a green roof. I was too nervous to be disappointed, though, and I clung to Mama’s hand like a lifeline when we walked through the front doors.
There were more kids than I could have imagined in the hallways, some of them crying like they were about to face their doom, others darting here and there, running from their mothers and getting yelled at by their new teachers. Some of them were very tall, and I realized with a sinking feeling that I would be going to school with fifth graders. I grew less and less sure of myself, thinking that I’d settle for Princess of the 1st Grade. Or even just an honorary participant. I wanted to hide behind Mama, run back to the car, and go home to my brother and sister and Elvis, Ginger, and Mary Ann. Susie Q was more than willing to take my place. She was smarter than I was. But I knew, deep down, that I had to do this. I had come too far to quit, and no matter how terrified I was, I would walk through the doors of my classroom pretending I had it all together and that I could handle whatever was thrown at me.
And finally, I saw it: The Door. It was wide open, towards the end of the hall, with a great view of the playground and the soccer fields (where I would suffer through one of the most embarrassing moments of my childhood). Mama asked me if I wanted her to go to my desk with me. I said no. What kind of loser brought her mom into her first grade classroom? Not this one. She kissed me goodbye, and I realized that she wasn’t leaving until I was safely in the classroom. There would be no chance to run out the glass doors at the end of the hall and hide in the playground for a few hours. I had to leave Mama and everything I’d ever been comfortable with and take a massive step into the rest of my life. It was terrifying. And then I was in that doorway, and there were twenty-four other kids sitting in their desks, staring at me. Some were still crying, others had that devilish look about them that teachers dreaded, and there were even a few who were wearing clothes almost as fabulous as mine. But they all looked at me, and I felt frozen under the weight of their gazes. They were waiting, watching, expecting. Would I freeze up? Would I choke under the pressure and cry? Or would I walk with grim determination to the empty desk with my name on it, taking my rightful place as the Queen of the First Grade?
I cried. But so did like ten other kids, so I wasn’t the only one whose mom had to hug and comfort them until there was nothing but hiccups and red eyes that begged to be brought home. And for some reason, that day has stayed with me. I never understood it. It was just the first day of first grade. Who cares? Not many other people, or so it seems. Why would I remember that crocheted bunny outfit with the matching purse and white patent leather Mary Jane’s? For a long time, I didn’t know. It was just there, in the back of my mind, with a few other significant, irrelevant memories that are just waiting for me to understand. But then, a few months ago, I started to get it.
There I was, six and a half years old, completely new and fresh, unaware of the bad in the world. I believed in fairy tales, magic, and the Tooth Fairy. I believed that the Easter Bunny brought eggs. I didn’t know where they came from or why that particular pairing was made, but I believed in him. I thought my Daddy could lift up houses and cars and that my Mama was the most beautiful woman in the world. And I was completely unprepared for the new world I’d been thrust into.
And now, here I am, eighteen years old, not quite as new and fresh, a little more aware of the bad in the world. I still believe in fairy tales and magic, but the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny started creeping me out so I crossed them off the list. I still think my Daddy is a superhero and my Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world. I am hovering on the edge of a potentially life changing path, completely unprepared. Every step of the way, I have been at an absolute loss, scrambling to cover my mistakes for fear someone would see them and realize just how average I truly am. There is nothing spectacular about me, my writing abilities, my voice. I’m just this kid whose biggest fear is growing up and who, four and a half years ago, announced to my parents that I wanted to be a singer. I didn’t know what would happen, or if anything would happen at all. I’ve been in a battle to the death with a dreadfully optimistic hope that our time would come and a deep seated fear that it never will. But more than anything, there is a thirst in me for the music. It’s like everything else I do in life is routine. Boring. But when I hear that music, I’m suddenly alive. Every bit of my heart and soul and brain is on fire, and I feel so much that I can’t help but open my lips and let it fly out. Nothing on Earth will ever compare to that moment when you close your eyes and feel the music rather than hear it. When the chills run down your spine and you smile and you understand what the words are saying. And then, when you open your eyes to find your sister looking back at you with the same expression on her face, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve actually got a shot, and you feel sick to your stomach with the combination of terror and ecstasy, and there is an all-consuming desire for it to be you. Maybe, just maybe, it will be.
Xx, Luci
June 4, 2013
Official Website Launch!
Hi! If you’re reading this, we want to say thank you a thousand times over for supporting us, following us, sharing our videos, liking our pages, and cheering us through our clumsy attempts at braving this brand new world that has been so wonderful to us. It has been a long road; at times, we’ve battled impatience, doubt, and met plenty of bumps and potholes along the way. But every time, the Good Lord was there to pick us up and all you darling people were quick to encourage us, even if you weren’t aware you were doing so. Thank you, from the very bottoms of our hearts. Whether we know you personally or have only had the pleasure of chatting over the computer, you have touched us in a way that we can’t fully explain, and we’re unable to express our gratitude through a few words on a screen. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is just the beginning of something completely foreign to us, and we’re delighted to know we have people like you at our sides.
We could fill the rest of this post with thank you’s, but that would mean we didn’t get to spill the news we’ve been bursting to tell you all! As you may or may not know, today is the official launch of our website, www.beauandluci.com. We are excited beyond belief about this, but it gets better! Not only can you join the mailing list to be among the first to get news, hear about promotions, and connect with us, you can check out pictures, videos, and thirty second sneak-previews of eight of the songs from our breakout album, Rules of Society. You will be the first to hear this music, and we’re honored to share such an important milestone with you. We’ve been working toward this moment for years now, and the fact that it will be experienced with the many people who have given us such support makes it even more memorable.
Please continue checking back to the site, sharing us with your friends, and (pretty please with cherries and rainbow sprinkles on top) let us know what you think about our music! We wouldn’t be here without God, our family, or you all, and we’re anxiously awaiting everything that lies ahead with the hopes you will be there with us as well. Once again, thank you!
Much love,
Beau + Luci
We could fill the rest of this post with thank you’s, but that would mean we didn’t get to spill the news we’ve been bursting to tell you all! As you may or may not know, today is the official launch of our website, www.beauandluci.com. We are excited beyond belief about this, but it gets better! Not only can you join the mailing list to be among the first to get news, hear about promotions, and connect with us, you can check out pictures, videos, and thirty second sneak-previews of eight of the songs from our breakout album, Rules of Society. You will be the first to hear this music, and we’re honored to share such an important milestone with you. We’ve been working toward this moment for years now, and the fact that it will be experienced with the many people who have given us such support makes it even more memorable.
Please continue checking back to the site, sharing us with your friends, and (pretty please with cherries and rainbow sprinkles on top) let us know what you think about our music! We wouldn’t be here without God, our family, or you all, and we’re anxiously awaiting everything that lies ahead with the hopes you will be there with us as well. Once again, thank you!
Much love,
Beau + Luci
June 3, 2013
How to Deal with Peer Pressure: I’m not very good at advice, but can I offer you a sarcastic comment?
At this age, it’s impossible not to be influenced by at least some people, whether it’s your best friends, your parents, people you see on the television, magazines, or even strangers. Some times it’s easy to think you’re doing the right or cool thing because you see others doing the same thing. People influence you and can pressure you into doing things based on many different factors—newspapers and magazines use celebrities with those certain issues of habits and make it look like its okay for regular people to do, also. Many times, once we have a close friend who is suddenly doing that thing that we once absolutely abhorred, it suddenly doesn’t seem as bad as it once was.
There are many ways to refuse to do things, and they even come from some of the celebrities. It’s nice to see that even celebrities can refute the grips of bad habits. One way, is to pull a Louis Tomlinson and sass your way out of peer pressure. When someone, or a group of people, are trying to convince you to do something, pull something from the books of the sass master of Doncaster (England). Whip that head, cock your hip, pull out that finger and get your sass on. Generally, ending sentences with words like ‘imbecile,’ ‘peasant,’ or ‘dark lord of the underworld,’ can help you get your point across. Always remember to use words that are too large for that Neanderthal’s vocabulary. If you can’t beat them with sheer force, beat them with the sassiness and the intelligence of your vernacular. Example:
Henry: Yo, I got some weed, yo. Want some?
Rolanda (you): OH MY GOD, EW. NO, GET AWAY FROM ME.
Henry: Come on, Rolanda, it’ll make you feel better, yo.
Rolanda (you): That rubbish is for swine like you, and I will not take part in your stupidity and reap the consequences that come from it, imbecile.
Henry: yo, what does that even mean, homie?
But, if your sassy meter is down for the day from a refined conversation with other intelligent life forms, you can always revert to the awkward comic relief of the one and only Mrs. Chanandler Bong (Chandler Bing). Sometimes, being sassy/saucy doesn’t work with people; because it offends them once they decide that Neanderthal isn’t really a term of endearment (even thought that’s what their Mom has called them for their entire life.) It’s easy to pull a joke and exit in the case where things get tense! Simply refer to your favorite jokes about the item or action in question, or pull an all around best one liner out and go for it. Example:
Henry: What does that mean? Why are you being so rude to me, you fabulous angelic being? Do I really need to bust your face in?
You: Oh my God, this parachute’s a knapsack.
(Exit stage left, or fall behind large furniture piece.)
(Everyone laughs at your hilarious antics and leaves you to your own habits.)
Now, let’s be honest here. Sometimes, these jokes aren’t as funny as we’d like them to be, or maybe we’re scared enough to not be able to think of any. In that case, our minds should race to the one and only person who always has the perfect line to both insult, stun, and show the lack of intelligence of the offender; Tony Stark/ Robert Downey Jr. /Iron Man. But remember not to go too far—Iron Man has laser blasters, and unfortunately, you don’t even have the mildly protective weapon of spider webs. Laser blasters are a sure fire way to get someone off your back. But, most of us aren’t lucky enough to have those at ready, so we must settle for the slightly less abrasive protection of insults at the ready. When insulting, also remember that while putting that person down, you should also explain how you are much better than him/her. In an argument, it’s best to end it with a show stopping sentence or statement such as: “It doesn’t matter; I’m Iron Man and you’re not.” Things to keep in mind while throwing around this powerful weapon? You do not actually have butt blaster jets that could instantly stun or decapitate an opposing force. You don’t actually have enough money to fix everything you break. You are not actually Iron Man. You’re not actually Tony Stark. You’re not Robert Downey Jr. You’re not even dating Gwyneth Paltrow. (What a strange way to tear someone down, right?) Things to insult on a person while winning an argument? Their hair, their house, their car, their music, their girlfriend/boyfriend, their friends, their lousy house cat named Mittens, and most importantly; their mom. (No examples needed here.)
Another way to diffuse the situation is to apologize. Even if you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s alright to apologize. Things to apologize for, you may ask? You should apologize for the awful haircut they have, for their lack of brain cells due to the item/habit in question, their love of dolls (or action figures), their immense stupidity that lead them into an argument with you, or apologize for their mom liking you better than them (works every time.)
The last way to get out of peer pressure is by pulling a Jennifer Lawrence. The idea here is to basically have a conversation without actually listening to what the other person is saying. Mention things like the fact that you’re hungry, that you don’t actually work out to look as good as you do, that you got into a car accident with a giant one eyed hawk because you thought you saw Honey Boo Boo (turns out it was a giant pig on two legs), or that you’re disappointed that you cannot ingest all of the awards and titles that have been bestowed upon you. It keeps people confused enough to think you’re already on drugs, so they wont ask you to join in. Example:
Henry: Stop insulting my mom, you angelic creature that must have flown out of heaven’s front gates!
You: Yeah, I’m starved.
Henry: Well you too! Wait… what?
You: I don’t know. But I was in bed until three, ate French fries and watched a zombie movie.
Henry: That’s…nice? I was going to ask you if you wanted to join in on the bong.
You: Yeah, sometimes I play tennis with people who walk on the sidewalk in front of my house. It changes the atmosphere. Sometimes it rains.
Henry: I’m going to leave now.
You: I have a car!
(Henry exits stage right.)
(You laugh like a maniac and insult someone else on their shoes, then make crazy eyes.)
So, you see, it can be hard to deal with the pressure put on you by even your closest friends. But with the right directions and instructions, you can almost always get out of it without causing a fight or reverting to violence to get out of the situation.
There are many ways to refuse to do things, and they even come from some of the celebrities. It’s nice to see that even celebrities can refute the grips of bad habits. One way, is to pull a Louis Tomlinson and sass your way out of peer pressure. When someone, or a group of people, are trying to convince you to do something, pull something from the books of the sass master of Doncaster (England). Whip that head, cock your hip, pull out that finger and get your sass on. Generally, ending sentences with words like ‘imbecile,’ ‘peasant,’ or ‘dark lord of the underworld,’ can help you get your point across. Always remember to use words that are too large for that Neanderthal’s vocabulary. If you can’t beat them with sheer force, beat them with the sassiness and the intelligence of your vernacular. Example:
Henry: Yo, I got some weed, yo. Want some?
Rolanda (you): OH MY GOD, EW. NO, GET AWAY FROM ME.
Henry: Come on, Rolanda, it’ll make you feel better, yo.
Rolanda (you): That rubbish is for swine like you, and I will not take part in your stupidity and reap the consequences that come from it, imbecile.
Henry: yo, what does that even mean, homie?
But, if your sassy meter is down for the day from a refined conversation with other intelligent life forms, you can always revert to the awkward comic relief of the one and only Mrs. Chanandler Bong (Chandler Bing). Sometimes, being sassy/saucy doesn’t work with people; because it offends them once they decide that Neanderthal isn’t really a term of endearment (even thought that’s what their Mom has called them for their entire life.) It’s easy to pull a joke and exit in the case where things get tense! Simply refer to your favorite jokes about the item or action in question, or pull an all around best one liner out and go for it. Example:
Henry: What does that mean? Why are you being so rude to me, you fabulous angelic being? Do I really need to bust your face in?
You: Oh my God, this parachute’s a knapsack.
(Exit stage left, or fall behind large furniture piece.)
(Everyone laughs at your hilarious antics and leaves you to your own habits.)
Now, let’s be honest here. Sometimes, these jokes aren’t as funny as we’d like them to be, or maybe we’re scared enough to not be able to think of any. In that case, our minds should race to the one and only person who always has the perfect line to both insult, stun, and show the lack of intelligence of the offender; Tony Stark/ Robert Downey Jr. /Iron Man. But remember not to go too far—Iron Man has laser blasters, and unfortunately, you don’t even have the mildly protective weapon of spider webs. Laser blasters are a sure fire way to get someone off your back. But, most of us aren’t lucky enough to have those at ready, so we must settle for the slightly less abrasive protection of insults at the ready. When insulting, also remember that while putting that person down, you should also explain how you are much better than him/her. In an argument, it’s best to end it with a show stopping sentence or statement such as: “It doesn’t matter; I’m Iron Man and you’re not.” Things to keep in mind while throwing around this powerful weapon? You do not actually have butt blaster jets that could instantly stun or decapitate an opposing force. You don’t actually have enough money to fix everything you break. You are not actually Iron Man. You’re not actually Tony Stark. You’re not Robert Downey Jr. You’re not even dating Gwyneth Paltrow. (What a strange way to tear someone down, right?) Things to insult on a person while winning an argument? Their hair, their house, their car, their music, their girlfriend/boyfriend, their friends, their lousy house cat named Mittens, and most importantly; their mom. (No examples needed here.)
Another way to diffuse the situation is to apologize. Even if you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s alright to apologize. Things to apologize for, you may ask? You should apologize for the awful haircut they have, for their lack of brain cells due to the item/habit in question, their love of dolls (or action figures), their immense stupidity that lead them into an argument with you, or apologize for their mom liking you better than them (works every time.)
The last way to get out of peer pressure is by pulling a Jennifer Lawrence. The idea here is to basically have a conversation without actually listening to what the other person is saying. Mention things like the fact that you’re hungry, that you don’t actually work out to look as good as you do, that you got into a car accident with a giant one eyed hawk because you thought you saw Honey Boo Boo (turns out it was a giant pig on two legs), or that you’re disappointed that you cannot ingest all of the awards and titles that have been bestowed upon you. It keeps people confused enough to think you’re already on drugs, so they wont ask you to join in. Example:
Henry: Stop insulting my mom, you angelic creature that must have flown out of heaven’s front gates!
You: Yeah, I’m starved.
Henry: Well you too! Wait… what?
You: I don’t know. But I was in bed until three, ate French fries and watched a zombie movie.
Henry: That’s…nice? I was going to ask you if you wanted to join in on the bong.
You: Yeah, sometimes I play tennis with people who walk on the sidewalk in front of my house. It changes the atmosphere. Sometimes it rains.
Henry: I’m going to leave now.
You: I have a car!
(Henry exits stage right.)
(You laugh like a maniac and insult someone else on their shoes, then make crazy eyes.)
So, you see, it can be hard to deal with the pressure put on you by even your closest friends. But with the right directions and instructions, you can almost always get out of it without causing a fight or reverting to violence to get out of the situation.
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