Call me Lizzie McGuire: My Daily Inner Monologue

Last Tuesday I was getting ready for bed when I received a text that read “You remind me of Lizzie McGuire,” followed by “It’s your inner monologue.”  My 7-year-old self freaked out a little bit. Being compared to Lizzie McGuire makes my screaming “Beat of My Heart” into my karaoke machine dreams come true. I may as well be waking up in London, Paris, maybe Tokyo. I was clearly Hilary Duff obsessed.

Our conversation continued, and apparently I have my fair share of cartoon Lizzie moments. According to Buzzfeed, I’m the “living embodiment of humiliation.” That sounds about right. Just like Lizzie my awkwardness really shines through in social situations, and it’s always followed by the infamous inner freak out.

Of course, I have lived through all the stereotypical embarrassing moments. In my sophomore year of high school, I accidentally called my tennis coach dad. I’ve double tapped a countless number of Instagram posts from 86 weeks ago. I’ve had to run out of stores after turning to ask a random shopper, who I assumed was my mom, if they thought what I picked up was cute. With some help from my Bitmoji, here’s what a typical day would look like for Lizzie McGuire—Oops, I mean me!

I wake up in the morning, like most college students, to the sound of my phone alarm. I roll over, a little suspicious that “Radar” isn’t ringing through my ears yet. I reach up and feel around for my phone. I fumble to see the screen. That’s when I realize my alarm has been going off for 45 minutes without a sound! I have precisely 5 minutes to get dressed, eat, and get to class. I spring from my bed and throw on the clothes off my floor. Can you say outfit repeater?

Riding the elevator is always awkward. There’s no way to make it not awkward. I remember one incident specifically, I was in the elevator with two girls who were obviously friends and I had never met either of them. They were exiting the elevator while saying goodbye to each other, and without thinking I joined in, saying “See you later!” They just looked at each other, trying not to laugh right in my face. *Facepalm*


Technology has only made the awkwardness harder to hide. Lizzie McGuire did not have to worry about sending a Snapchat to the wrong person in 2003.  I’m over here hoping the pictures of my face swapped with Joe Biden don’t get into the wrong hands.

Texting is a whole other story. I am queen of the risky text. Spur of the moment, with a sudden boost of confidence, I’ll say whatever is on my mind. Without fail, 30 seconds later I am texting my Miranda and Gordo, “I did something dumb.” They deal with my panic in the aftermath.

I apologize in advance if I ever make prolonged eye contact with you in the library. It is a daily occurrence for me. When I get distracted or zone out I end up staring, sometimes at people. The worst is when I don’t realize I’ve been looking at someone for too long, until they say hi to me. At this point, my cartoon conscience is screaming at me to run.

I have a habit of watching stand up comedy shows on Netflix at the gym. It distracts me from how much I hate working out. This can be dangerous though. I get carried away and end up laughing out loud. Then I have to casually looking around to see if anyone noticed me chuckling in the corner.


All this embarrassment gets tiring. In the words of Lizzie herself, “I’m hurt, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I wish they’d vote me off this island.”