How to Build a House

Lets pretend that my life is a house, and everything about me is a brick. 

The foundation of my house would be cracked, because so is my family. My parents are divorced, so you can't build a strong foundation when a fundamental part of the structure is missing, right?

The first layer of bricks were all my hopes and dreams when I was a child. I wished to be tall like a supermodel, and to be very, very thin. I wanted to smart, and good at everything. In High School, I wanted to be a cheerleader, prom queen, and most popular. I wanted all the boys to love me. I wanted to have bouncy blonde hair. I wanted to live in a mansion, and drive a pink Ferrari. Basically, I wanted to be a Barbie bitch.

The second layer of bricks is the disappointment I would've had if my eight-year-old self saw the seventeen-year-old version of myself. I'm not tall. I'm only two inches away from being a midget. I'm not extremely thin. I like ice cream too much. I don't have blonde hair, but I do have an ombre if that counts? I drive a white 1996 Nissan Sentra. And there's no way in hell I'm a cheerleader, I can't even touch my toes.

The third layer of bricks is the realization that I'm glad I'm not a Barbie bitch. Unlike most girls my age, I'm proud of myself. I'm not always happy and content, but I can say that I'm proud of who I'm becoming.

And the last layer of bricks is what I dream of. I dream of winning an Oscar for Best Actress. I dream of having hair that goes down to my butt. I dream of having an ocean front mansion and waking up next to Dave Franco or Zac Efron or some hot piece of man meat every morning. I dream of not only being proud, but of being happy and content with myself.