December Warp Up

Ok, ok, for reals this time.

Obviously I've taken a leave of absence, which is totally legal, seeing as this isn't my journal or anything cool like that. Sadly, I've taken a leave of absence from that too... That has to be expected though. I guess I should state that I'm an avid journaler, and since 2006 I have kept a [somewhat] accurate and fluent record of my... life....

However, the past few weeks have been [slightly] eventful, and I'm sure you'll find them [hopefully] as marvelous as I have.

Thanksgiving weekend I pulled in 45 minutes late for curfew and was slammed with a week and a half sentence of repercussions. Not horrible I suppose, but still inconvenient for blogging purposes. After that, my feng shui was totally off, and I was in a queer, self pitying mood for about the next month. That takes care of the latter of November, and the majority of December, along with the grueling tests my theory teacher loves to throw on us. Mind that my teacher is also my older sister's old boyfriend from her junior high days. I.E. The days when I was toddeling. I'm just waiting to toss out a "Back off Tyler!" at him when he's being especially guresome.

During Decmeber, the 18th as I recall, the day before we got out for Holiday Break, I was the clerk for the local Youth Court, so I got to sit in on all the cases and scribe notes until my hand cramped, and ever on. Of course, this was only after I was heavily bribed by my history teacher for extra extra credit. I was initially signed up to be a juror, in which case I would have seen only half of the cases. It was great though! I got to swear in all of the punks and say the whole "In this Judicial court of law...truth, whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" junk [while promptly saying "damn right" after each "I do"]. It was phenominal.

Naturally, the next day was a ridiculous, pointless, early release day for school, of which everbody was hoping it would be a snow day instead. I am proud to announce that I got up at 5:30 am to make a lousy batch of chocolate chip muffins to take to my theory class breakfast [because my teacher doesn't plan for half days?], and they turned out to be absolute rocks which nobody [including myself] wanted to eat. They were a complete waste of time. I should have been sleeping. Period two of the day, math, A.K.A. the most difficult class I have [next to my history class because it's so blastedly boring and I could care less because when I'm a brain surgeon I'll likely not be thinking about the Civil War, unless of course it's comparing the death rate to my malpractice quote], my teacher informed us the preceeding days that we would have a 100 point test; one question, involving all of chapter seven's material, pas or fail. Yeah. Fat chance. We were only on section three, of who knows how many. Pathetically, I fell for it and was psyching out the night before trying to study as much as possible so I didn't flunk. However, to mask my gullibility, the next day when Engdahl didn't bring up the test topic, I swallowed my ethos and put on my logic cap. Really I just pealed away my abstract facade.

Since the beginning of break, I have seen my witch doctor twice, my brother and his wife [currently residing out of town] multpile sclerosis, almost met the man of my dreams, and have been sick since Tuesday. Priceless. I shouldn't say that I almost met the man of my dreams, because I did meat him. Tenderized and everything. Ahhhh I love typos. Moving on. The thing about holidays is that family gatherings are usually bland, drunk and boisterous, or way too often. I have seriously seen my family everyday this week. Shocker. Never mind. It's too weird to explain.

Anywho, seeing as this has turned into a gigantic ramble, I suppose I'll be off to do something useful, like paint calligraphy, or dance interpretively, or write in my seventh volume of journal, or something to that effect. How bogus is that? Cheers. :D

Irony

Isn't it ironic that humans are only good for information? Information spreads pretty much faster than an STD, and has about as many variations. I think the weirdest part is even about humanity is that it's entirely centered around information; gossip, rumor, tabloids, newspapers, periodicals, websites, blogs, journals; the list goes on. It seems that the only time we ever talk to someone is to get information, even if we mask it with true interest in the person. School, work, love, friend: all sources of information. Even the rhetoric of "How's life? How are you doing?" is just a way to glean. Just some food for thought.

Happy Thanksgiving.

This has to be the worst Thanksgiving I have ever been through. It started out fine and everything: I got to sleep in, stay up late last night, work on my homework on my own time, read what I wanted to when I wanted to, ect. But then the time came to get ready for the annual Thanksgiving dinner at my grents' house. I wasn't overly excited about it, because I knew that my grandmother would be in the next room over, not eating, not partying it up like the rest of us, and not participating in anything really, other than a few breaths every now and then. She's been quite sick for awhile, and really just not doing anything. It's been weird for the whole family. Not weird, as in unnatural, but weird as in sort of uncomfortable. No one really wants to see her like this, and I [unashamedly] have been avoiding her for some time. In reality it sounds grotesque of me to do that, because she's never been anything but nice to me, but I don't want to remember her this way. She has also mentally deteriorated, so I'm not even sure if she knows who I am anymore. She talks a lot about my older siblings though, probably because they were her first grandkids. There's no shame in that, and I don't feel left out.

I started to get ready at about 3:00 p.m., because dinner was [supposed to be] at 4:00 p.m. When I started doing my makeup I was listening to music, so at first I thought their voices were in jest. As I went to start my drying hair, I noticed that they were the epitome of jesting voices, and really they were furious. Contention of any sort on a special day is disconcerting, but when it results in a major blow out that you can literally hear from outside our house, it's even more so. Consequently, my dad didn't end up going to his own family's dinner. Me going there felt phony as hell, because my [offended] brother was there as well, yet we all just acted like nothing happened, when really my mom was in tears the entire time. I won't say that this happens every holiday, but more often than naught something similar occurs. And then people ask me why I'm a complete Scrooge about holidays. Of course you can't really share that with people though, can you?

I'm not going to say "I told you so," or intentionally rub it in, but for quite some time it's been obvious to me that 1. anything my family talks about can be groups into three categories [a. guns b.religion or c. politics], and 2. my family shouldn't talk about politics, because we were blessed with easily offended personalities and short tempers, as made obvious by this evening's episodes. Sometimes I just wish people would take me a little more seriously, and realize that just because I'm a stereotypically stupid teenage girl doesn't mean that I don't know what I see and what I'm talking about sometimes.

Happily, my two cousins and I were able to discreetly leave shortly after dinner, to go view Twilight, which was a much better alternative. This time however, the theater was pretty much empty. Not really a surprise there.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is don't think I'm weird because I don't like holidays or family gatherings as much as I should. Don't get me wrong. I love my family. But I also wish we didn't fight as much as we do.

Red Glittery Nail Polish. That's It.

Note: This is a rant blog.

SERIOUSLY! WHEN EVERY THING WAS GOING SO WELL TODAY! [Lie.]

Let's start at 8:30 this morning. Yes. That's what I said. Who in Hell's carnation starts their Sunday at 8 freaking and a half 'o' in the morning?! My mom, when she comes in and wakes me up.

Fifteen minutes ago, I did the most detrimental thing I could have possibly done today. I left my flask of glittery red nail polish unscrewed on my desk. No biggie. I was using it for hell's sake! So I pick it up by the lid [which if you'll kindly remember is unscrewed] and it spills all over my hands, my shirt, and my pants. Again, if you'll kindly remember I'm wearing a red cardigan, a light blue sequiney tank top, and my newest favorite pair of brand new pants. NOW ASK IF NAIL POLISH IS REMOVABLE FROM CLOTHING!

Yes. I'm completely, irrationally furious. Back off now or I'll bite your head off.

Flying Mule Kicks, ID Badgers, and Twlight

Sometimes I think I have an anxiety disorder. Other times I think I have OCD. Most of the time I like to think that I'm completely normal. Then stuff like this happens, and I realize that I'm nowhere near "normal," as defined by the DSM-IV-Classification guide.

Let's start with the flying mule kicks. No politics involved. The scenario was such that I was sitting in my sixth hour AP English class [seriously one of my favorite classes ever], during a class reading of some article [I forget which], taking notes and not really paying attention to the surrounding activities of the class. A few minutes into the reading, I start to relax, kick my feet up onto the stool in front of me, and take life easy. Apparently, that wasn't to be. About 0.0000009 seconds later, my teacher [the amiable Mr. Bevis] dropped his tomahawk [more like a broken leg from a desk he ripped apart with his bear hands] onto his podium, directly in front of the stool I was chilling out on. The weapon yielded a blood curdling noise which triggered a response in me, implying my anxiety disorder. My reaction was one of pure terror. What did I do? I slid as much under my desk as quickly as I could, and in the process kicked the stool straight into the podium with such force that it pretty much dented it. Well.... Not really, but it was a serious kick!

Of course the class had been neutral, until my reaction set off a chain reaction of terror within the classroom. Again, not really, but the class's reaction was just about equivalent to mine, in that their's was in jest, while mine was pure defense. I won't say that I didn't blush.

Also in English, we were preparing for the DWA [Laman's terms: the direct writing assessment, which doesn't really assess, due to asinine prompts and the like], by doing a practice DWA. In this case, our prompt was something to the effect of "Write a persuasive essay about your opinion on whether students should be required to wear ID badges at all times on school property." Really now. Who in Hell would write to a prompt like that unless forced to? I have better things to write about! Of course our teacher thought it was an idiotic prompt as well, and decided that if he were to be forced to write on this topic, he would shift it into a malapropism and make it be ID badgers, versus ID badges. If I were to have been grading his paper, I would have given it the highest grade possible, for a few reasons, one being a sense of voice and humor in writing.

On the retched bus ride home yesterday, my abusive gay boyfriend gave me a black eye. In public no less! ?Just kidding, on so many levels, the first being that he's not my boyfriend. But he really did give me a black eye. It was awesome! I couldn't have planned it better myself. You see what happened, was he [being my very good friend] had been kicked out of his seat by some punk who doesn't appreciate him, so he came and sat by my seat buddy and me. I know, it totally went against the "two to a seat OR LESS!!!" rule, but how could I turn him away? That would be awful of me. As he was sitting by us [I was sammiched in the middle; how delightful...], he happened to hit my left eye area with his elbow, quite forcefully, but completely on accident. After a few tears and a little bit of swelling, I pretty much forgot about it. Until of course I saw my face in a mirror and about went to his house and smacked him for it. How DARE he give me a black eye on the one night I'm going out on the town?! What? Was he trying to make me look like a victim of domestic violence? Was I supposed to be the newest poster child for the Respect campaign encouraging the teaching of respect to men and young boys? Geeze....

So about going out on the town.... Luckily my shiner didn't fully develop, and it was more clandestine than I could have wished for. As we all know, Twilight came out yesterday, and it was pretty much sold out all day, until 10:30 p.m., which is when my friends and I attended it. The theater was packed, even for being the sixth or seventh showing that day. Happily, the audience was well educated [or at least faked it well], and was responsive and respectful to the film. It was really great, because you didn't have idiots that were yelling in the wrong parts, or cry in the wrong parts, ect. The movie itself was flawed, and some of the characters had hideous teeth [it doesn't matter how white they are; if they're not straight and even it's worthless.], but there were considerable hotties with lovely bodies in it. Not to sound cliche but a hottie with a body makes up for a hottie without a lovely body. Yes. I'm vain and shallow in that sense, but only to a certain extent. I mean really, if you're going to a flick, and you're introduced to the image of a person and not the person them self, then why not be completely shallow about it your conception of them? If you were to meet them in reality first, then the same wouldn't apply.

Seeing as this has gone on for way too long, I'll be done by saying that I'm excited that there are only two and a half days of school this week, but not very excited that I have a history test on Monday. Cheers. :D

Donuts, Enigmas and Three Bucks

By nature, I am in no way a health nut. By choice, I am in a way a health nut. The reason being that I'm rather conscious of appearance and future career as a physique model. That's my goal anyway. Because of this consciousness, I've been avoiding excess food and sugary crap that isn't healthy. As a result, my figure has changed entirely for the better, but my sweet teeth [all of my denta are sweet] have been killing me. Supposedly once you've made it a habit to avoid excess sugars, they get out of your system. I testify that that is a complete out and out lie. For the past few months, I've been dieing [more or less] from not being able to eat as much sugar and food as I want to. I mean, I could if I really wanted to, but then I'd have to work extra to get it off, and I'm lazy enough to just not eat the extra. However, yesterday was a stressful day [I did find three pairs of pants that fit like a dream; with the exception that I'm about 4" too short for my favorite pair. Apparently, I only have a 25" inseam. Seriously? Yes. But I'm not really that short! I just have severely short legs. If I were to be broken down, I think I would have the legs of a person that was 4' 8", and the torso of a person who was 5' 9". Yes. I'm a little bit of a freak.], and so I didn't get my usual cardio in. A little disappointing, I will admit.

This morning I woke up, and immediately decided to grab some breakfast. Bad idea for me. My self control snapped when I smelled the French Toast. There goes my not-diet. Then, I got the urging for a donut. Who actually eats those?! Dios mio, they're so disgusting! Apparently not disgusting enough for my desperate denta.

After attending a spectacular shopping event and picking up some great items including a new lavender man sweater, a red cardigan and a hot pink super soft long sleeve tee shirt, my mom unfortunately agreed to stop by Winco to grab a donut. Not like she really had that much of a choice anyway, seeing as I was driving. So we wander around Winco for a few hours, and finally meander over to the magazine isle. I say isle because it was pretty much a desert island, and if you were stuck there you'd be toast. A magazine with the cast of Twilight [the new coming flick] on the cover caught my eye. Naturally, being the vampire that I am, I pick it up to examine the damage they've brought to my people. It wasn't nearly as bad as the description in People magazine. Moving on [finally] to the donut section, I stare at the glass case in awe.

I had a hard time picking out the donut that I wanted, because really I wanted all of them. I finally decided [after much help and scowls from my mom] to get a maple bar, a chocolate bar, and another maple bar for my dad. You see, the plan was for my mom and I to split a maple and a chocolate, so we each had half of the other's. I thought it was a fabulous idea. You have to realize though, that I've never bought donuts in my entire life, so I was a bit confused at the whole concept of 1. get a plastic protector sheet 2. pick up a donut 3. put it in the bag 4. use the same plastic protector sheet to pick up another donut and 5. put it in the same bag as the others. It blew me away! The lady behind me was probably thinking "Oh.... My.... Gosh.... You have got to be kidding me!" After I had picked up the three stinking donuts and wasted six and a half minutes doing so, I said to her "I've never bought donuts before in my life." Do you know what she said? "Really." What a stupid thing to say. Anyway, so the lines for the checkout were three miles long each, and of course all the people in line had sixty million items, and there we were with four [toothpaste, donuts, olive oil mayo and ciabatta bread] in the backest line of them all! Long story short, the donuts ended up having this nasty squirting cream/custard/crap in them, and they totally weren't worth the effort it will take to get them off.

I hate supermarket lines.

So... I have sort of an addiction [or passion] for reading mysteries, but I've never understood why they're called mysteries. That's such a dumb name! It's so... predictable! Because you can totally always tell what happened and who dun it, so "mystery" is a pretty nondescript title. I think "enigma" would be much more suitable, because even then in the genre flavor you can't tell what it is, unless you already know what an enigma is, and then it's just no fun for you anyway so it doesn't really matter because you're probably not even reading mysteries at all because you're too smart for them. But really, it's rather annoying to figure the "mystery" out when you still have 170 pages left. Very lame.

I suppose after eating that crappy donut that I'm off to get it out of my system, the non-bulimic way. Yes. I can feel some hills for me today. -Groans- Yeah yeah, I'm gone. Cheers, and remember not to give into those stupid sweet teeth I know you have!

Dresses, Wind, and A Marilyn Or Two

I should preface with saying how ridiculous today really has been.

So... I was running late this morning, by about five minutes. Have I ever mentioned that I am NOT a morning person, in any sense of the word, other than my happy hours are between 10:00 p.m. and 4:00 a.m.? The five minutes that I lost were fine, because I still got to school on time. I just didn't have as amazing hair as I could have. As I was speedwalking to my locker to pick up my first and second class materials, I realize that I'm not carrying my Hello Kitty lunch tin, filled with the amazing lunch my mom always makes me. That would mean a very cranky Melanie by the end of the day, and a very undesirably outcome for the people I interact with. That was only the first straw on my camelish back.

I grabbed my junk, scurried downstairs for my class, and got to about the third stair from the bottom when I totally biffed it. It would have been ok, had I been able to recover quickly. However, that wasn't to be the case. This biff was one of those biff's where you move your feet really quickly to try to get back on course, so you're sort of running, head down; the perfect charge stance. Anywho, so as I realized that I wasn't going to be able to stop very quickly, I emitted a slightly manlike growl that quickly turned into a yodel, that quickly evolved into a gargling mess of a scream. I felt like I was screaming with a mouth full of mouthwash. Try it, it's not that easy. I still hadn't stopped yet, and I was about six feet from the middle of the hallway. At that point, I finally flipped, managed to land on my head [in the same stupid place I got a concussion from ice skating a few months ago dangitt], fling off my dress shoes, and scatter my books from Hell to the china cabinet. In the course of these events, my dress flipped up above my head. Luckily, when I was just chilling on the floor for a bit, I noticed that it was back down.

Happily [or unhappily?] some people walked by a few minutes later that helped me out, gathered my contents, and shooed me off to class. Ironically, I was .000000000000000000000001 seconds late for my first class. My teacher just looked at me with the "Seriously?" look on his face, and then I quickly explained I'd just fallen down the stairs. He seemed to buy it.

The second event was inspired by the wind, and it's uncanny ability to make me feel uncomfortable, in so many ways. I.E. As I was walking in from my off campus class, a perverted gust of wind caught the back of my dress, pulled it up, and showed off my fishnet stockings for me. I suppose it would have been more humorous had there not been a flock of people behind me. Why couldn't it have been that they buffered the wind against my vulnerable backside? Oh well. I will say that I felt very Monroe-esque, and there definitely was NOT an era of good feelings before, during, or after my escapade as Marilyn.

Thankfully, during second period I got a note from the office saying that my mom had dropped off my lunch for me. A Happy turn in the day's events.

I won't say that I went through the day completely unscathed. In fact, I'll venture to say that I even got beat up a little. But as we're reading in my English class, teens and children these days need a little more roughing up in order to be better adults, so I suppose I'm on the road to success. Cheers. :]

Logs, Hair, and Ducks

Hey, hey, what does a quantum duck say?

Quark, quark, quark.

That's the joke I was so excited to share with my dry humored family, when my mother chimes in with "quark." Of course she was right, and of course I was outraged. That was a joke I had to finagle out of my geekiest friend that morning! Well... It was more like he willingly bounded up to me in math that morning and gushed out with before I even had a chance to pick my nose. And trust me, that's pretty fast.

I must admit that my hair is not naturally straight. I've determined there are very few people who actually have straight hair. However, my hair isn't exactly what you'd call curly either. It's more of a wavy chill, that sometimes works nicely, and sometimes doesn't. I've also determined that [uncannily] if I go to bed with wet hair it ends up looking better than if I let it frizz out naturally. Because of this, for the past few days I have had excellently curly hair. It's literally beautiful. The only thing I've had to do is add a few legitimate curls with a flatiron.

I'm a grade ahead in math, and probably shouldn't be, based on my understanding level and learning rate. Anywho, we barely got a new seating chart [don't you love high school?], and I was moved from my happy seat in the back to the front and center of the room. I can't say that I'm opposed, because I tend to learn better when I'm not the shortest person in my row, at the very back, and have the tallest people in the class all sitting in front of me. My gosh that was a stupid situation. So the chapter we're working on is Logs and their functions and crap that I don't care about and really will likely never use again in my entire life. The ironic situation is that I actually understand for the most part what we're talking about, material and all that jazz. Why is it that the crap I don't need to know to be a Neurosurgeon/physique model I understand? That will never make sense to me. Let's hope neurology and medicine come as easily as they have in the past. :D

Well.... I've started a book called The Historian. It's really a fabulous book. Seeing as how amazing it is, I'm off to have some good quality reading time with my newest party novel. Cheers! :D

Black Ribbons, Tradition, and The Holiday Season

So... Last night as I was picking out my outfit for church today, I noticed that one of the ribbons on my black shrug had been half mauled by [I assume] my dryer. It was highly disappointing, because as it was, it was exactly the length I needed in order for it to be able to tie not only in the front, but also to wrap around to the back and still be long enough to tie. Because of the awful knotted chewed up mess in the ribbon, I sadly had to chop it off and tie a knot in the strand. To be non discriminate, I also did that to the other one. Now they're only able to be tied in the front. No biggie. It will all work out I suppose.

Truthfully, I haven't been to church in a few months. Don't judge me or try to talk to me about it, because I don't want to hear it. There aren't any specific reasons for it, so don't even think about it, because it's irrelevant. The point being, the only reason I went today is because I had been asked to play a musical number in Sacrament meeting. I didn't really want to, but you can't really say no when some lady calls and flatters you into playing. I was pretty unpsyched to play, but I was relatively indifferent about it all the same. I must admit that I have a minimal anxiety problem when it comes to playing for the church congregation, regardless of size. Once theology is thrown into a performance, my world is rocked and it's difficult for me to preform. The same goes with church music. I won't say that I dislike it, because I don't. However, it happens to be the hardest genre of music for me to sightread, practice, and perform. Throw that in with the odd shakes I get when performing in church, and what you get is a completely slaughtered rendition of a piece or hymn that should have been beautiful, but wasn't. Luckily, with training, I've learned to refrain from making faces when I screw up. That gives the congregation a little less of a hint as to why the music sounds so awful. Finally, when it was over, I walked quickly back to my seat by my mother. I was lucky that we sat where we did, because had we sat any farther back, the tears welling up in my brain would have spewed out uncontrollably. I know. Why tears? It's always been a tradition of mine to cry after a performance, regardless of quality. That's not to say that there won't be other reasons for crying, but it's inevitable that after I play something I cry. In this case, there was more than just tradition to cry about. The fact that I'd botched one of the world's favorite hymns was definitely something to tear up about. Not only that, but anyone who told me how well I did made me feel even worse, because I knew how well I could have done, and how I'd cheated them out of a great piece. Because of that, I cried even more. The lady sitting next to us didn't make me feel any better either. In essence what she said was "...Even though you made a few clunkers nobody knew..." Well, obviously they did, or else they wouldn't have said so. Gosh people say stupid stuff when it's least helpful.

In reference to the disagreements about California's Prop. 8 and the election of our new president, I think it would be helpful if our family stopped talking about it, because obviously it's just a venue leading to argument and ill-feelings. I personally feel that obesity is as much a situation as homosexuality and abortion. Until you have control of your own lives, I don't think that it's right to degrade others', especially when your situations may not be ideal either. Obesity and gluttony are on the same ethical level in my opinion as homosexuality and killing babies. Consider your words and actions as well as situations before you demean someone else and their's. PLEASE!

With the coming of November, there has been a dramatic increase in holiday cheer and spirit. There's nothing wrong with that, unless you're a Scrooge like me. Then it's absolutely asinine and annoying. The entire season. Whatever. People can celebrate their holidays however they want to. I'm done with ranting about how stupid they are, and how stupid the holidays are. Cheers.

Saturdays, Tesla, and Strawberry Fields Not Forever

One of the few perks of November is the beauty of the leaves changing colors. However, with this beauty comes the inevitable release of ethylene gas, and the "fall" portion of autumn. Unhappily, this means the smell of rotting or incinerating leaves if they're not taken care of in a timely fashion, and it rains, such as it has here. Rotting foliage is definitely an effluvium. I must admit though, it's definitely a pretty sight to see green grass and hills carpeted skillfully with the bright earthy tones of reds, browns, greens, and oranges.

Against the gray cloudy sky the flaming bushes and trees absolutely make their mark in the world, whereas in the spring and summer they simply blend in with the rest of the scenery. That's the beauty of November, if of course you're able to ignore the seething cold that seeps in between your gloves and your fingers, chilling your wrists and fingers mercilessly.

One of my favorite brothers recently lent me his biography of Nikolai Tesla, one that I've been bugging him to let me borrow for months. I feel slightly guilty, because he hasn't entirely finished it yet, but he was still gracious enough to lend it to me. That was several months ago, say about six or so. After reading the first fascinating chapter, I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't picked it back up again, but he hasn't asked for it back either, so I suppose it's all neutral ground. :D

Yesterday happened to produce one of the most notable creations in my culinary experience. I started to make bread, normal, bland, white bread, when I conceived the notion to add some flavor to it, and make it a bit more exciting. So... I added some yogurt... and some jam... and some other flavors... and boom chief! The result was strawberry flavored sweetbread, with a crust that was more amazing than any nasty Pillsbury concoction could have produced. The batch made two somewhat gigantic loaves, both of which were consumed in a timely fashion. Don't get me wrong, I have no problems with that. But I strongly feel as though the Beatles continuously lie to me as they hum "strawberry fields forever..." because that strawberry field lasted little more than a day and a half. No hard feelings though.

Really all the ramblings of today come down to is loneliness. Books are great company and all, but sometimes non-fictional people are more interesting and enthralling than fictional characters. In the past when my parents have come home to all of the lights lit, with the stereos playing, and the tv's on noisily, they're astonished at my behavior. Of course it's just so I feel like there are other people there, but they don't exactly understand that yet.

Anywho, I suppose I'll be off to copy down some belated history notes for the worst class in the history of horrible classes. Wish me luck that The American Pageant doesn't eat me. Cheers!

Nephews, November, and Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

Seeing as it's already half way through November [or at least it FEELS like it...], I figured it's about time for a day off from school. Wish granted, there was no school today. It's not even Thanksgiving holiday either! Supposedly the teachers needed yet another debriefing on how to deal with us, so we got the day off. I was absolutely ecstatic, seeing as how the past week has been so incredibly stressful. You wouldn't even believe how much junk a teacher can pile on you, and expect you to spend at least two hours per day on their subject alone. Try managing that with six subjects. Not that it can't be done.

November happens to be my least favorite month of the entire year in Idaho, simply because it's so blasted cold outside. Also, there are very few things interested enough that happen in November to even keep my attention, one of which is the annual Tran-Siberian Orchestra concert, which for the past four years I have faithfully missed. Don't ask me why, because every year as it advertises through the city of Boise I fully intend to purchase tickets before they're completely sold out. Sadly however, I forget to purchase in time, and the show sells out before my very eyes. Tragic. I know.

Luckily, my sister, niece, and three week old nephew stopped by today while I was working on my homework. That brightened my day considerably. I can't even express how jubilant I was to open the door after the doorbell had been activated six million times to have to look down to the three foot level and see my niece in a pink sweater with pigtails in her hair, with her mom and little brother following closely behind. Also to my great delight, they brought the newest in the Horseland adventures. Of course they are insulting to the intelligence, but they contain a multitude of memorable quotes in excess. Ones such as one rich snob saying to the other "Just because we're both rich doesn't mean you know what I'm going through," another being "...So the I was totally afraid that I'd have to take my limo to school, and the other kids would think I was a snob...." Simply delightful.

It's been rumored that the English language is difficult to learn because of all of it's stupid idioms and word antics and such. I concur, mainly because it's the only language I've been required to learn thus far in life. Supposedly the spoken portion isn't enough, and we're required to learn to actually write well in it, which I suppose has merit, but is unbelievably boring, when you're forced to sit in a class filled to the brim with oodles of kids stuck in the same situation. It's not that we don't write well [some of us], it's that the state feels the need to require at least 12 years of English [and study of literature] in order to prepare us for the real world. But really, unless we're going into a Language career, is there really a need to be able to interpret Shakespeare to the proper extent, or to be able to find the meaning of a clandestine piece of poetry? It may sound like ignorance, but in all reality, I find no need to have more than a medium level of knowledge in a subject, unless it's a] pf interest to me, or b] if I plan on having a career in that area. Vocabulary is an entirely different flavor of education though. I firmly believe that all people should be educated and have a firm foundation of vocabulary, so we can have intelligent conversations, in something that the average nomenclature. However, there are some words that are absolutely useless, unless applicable to a situation or field of study. One such word would be pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, which happens to be not only the longest word in the English language, but also simply a ridiculous way of saying the diagnosis of a lung disease cause by the inhalation of silica dust [as told by http://dictionary.reference.com/]. Although vernacular is a blessing, it can also be a curse, if no one around you has the same vernacular, so you either have to dumb down yours, or just not talk to them. Both disadvantages. However, seeing as company with incredible vocabularies have arrived, I suppose I'll be off to have a deep philosophical conversation, or two. :D Cheers!

Parties, Chocolate, and Stripy Tights

Seeing as it's the most amazing day of the year [excluding my birthday and Valentine's Day (NOT in that order)], Halloween, I find it highly appropriate to be frustrated that I don't get candy this year. The tragedy is caused from a number of things, the first being that I'm in high school. Yes, it's true that I'm short enough to pass for a 12 year old, but I wouldn't say that I still have the figure of a preteen. Also, I will be throwing my own party tonight, one that consists of no scary movies, no idiotic pranks, and no candy. My parents, however, aren't held to the same diet rules as I am, so when some friends of theirs brought over a bag of chocolate, they had no inhibitions. I felt betrayed. MY OWN PARENTS! Partying it up with chocolate RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! The nerve of SOME people!
I felt gypped. I honestly felt as though my rents, who are supposed to care for me, ripped one of my sugar teeth. They get chocolate and all I get is a measly orange and a potentially great body? Preposterous! I got the equivalent of Charlie Brown in the lines from Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin "I got a rock."
However, the compensation of the black and orange stripy tights under my running shorts with a t shirt makes up for the candy in a non-related but highly meaningful way. Just remember the power of the stripy tights! Cheers. :]

Migrains, Hairnets, and Nice Calves

I am proud to announce that I have been migraine free for almost an entire week! That trend, was broken sadly this morning though. I was on a roll. However, at about 2:00 a.m. I woke up with a killer pinching on the right side of my head. This lead to the inevitable vomiting, but since I had no undigested food in me, it was pure bile. And yes, it was severely vile, disgusting, and gross. At least I woke up instead of asphyxiating on my own vomit. That truly would be a tragedy. I'm not sure if the migraine was a result of this dream, or if the dream was a result of the migraine, but I dreamed that a sheep was standing on my head, and it was highly uncomfortable. It's stupid little peg legs were digging into the area behind my eye and around my right ear. Pretty much in the area of my temporal lobe and part of my frontal cortex.
I have decided to turn my pathetic life into something more worthwhile, so I am working on becoming a physique model. I'm not even close to it yet, but that's my motivation to improve my health, and get a killer body; killer as in I feel like killing people because exercise sucks so much. Of course I wouldn't ever do that, but that's almost exactly how I feel after every bloody session of cardio or whatever I do a day. My endorphines don't start working until I'm done. How lame is that? Then I take a look at my brother, and realize that it takes hard work and dedication. Neither of which I have, but by the time I'm a fitness model I hope to have gained some. Of course this is the same brother that eats cake half a pan at a time.
My parents went on a field trip today, with some of their friends, to a food processing plant. What did I get out of it? A measly hairnet my mom brought back for me to treasure and keep forever. My very own hairnet! :D How cool is that? ...
Happily, I'm out to a piano lesson quite soon, and am ecstatic to do so. There's something refreshing about hanging out with one of my closest friends for about an hour and collaborating to make me a better musician. Of course it's accompanied by the usual "PLAY!" from my mother, who has rarely missed a lesson of mine in almost eight years. She's way more devoted to piano than most piano moms I know. I mean, who actually sits in on their kid's lesson for an hour every Thursday for pretty much a decade? Seriously. She's amazing that way.
Also happily, I've finished most of my homework for today. That's a rare event. For me to be done before 10 p.m. that is. I'm a good student. I always do my homework. Just not always in a timely fashion. :D This means that I can chill with a great book and lightly flavored water until I am forced to shower and go to bed. As always, it's been a blast. Cheers! :D

Sinuses, Sudafed, and Mood Swings

Well.... My sinuses are clogged.... It's not the happiest feeling I've felt, but it's better than what has been going on, so I guess I can't complain that much. It just feels like there's a solid mass of disgusting, super nasty, intensely concentrated brain phlegm or SOMETHING lodged behind my right orbital socket, at pretty much the top left "corner" of it. It's appalling. When I sneeze or blow my nose [unhappily], the pain is comparable to a gigantic needle stabbing into my brain. Anywho, I wouldn't be surprised if I burst a blood vessel in my eye. That would be cool.
In order to attack my sinuses in a not so friendly way, I decided to take some nasty crap medicine which works wonders on colds and congestion, especially in your sinus cavities. I took a normal dose [2 tablets] at about 7:00 a.m., so I would be functional at school that day [because apparently I had to go...].
As I found out from our school nurse, medications like that hit their peak of effectiveness after about 6 hours of ingestion. During AP History [5th hour] I was wired! Wired as in moodswingish, paranoid, hyperactive, spacey, and aggressive. How lame is that? I.E. I was sitting in my desk as my teacher droned on and on about the Jeffersonian Era [which I could care less about] and my friend sitting in the desk in between the heater and me started to look at me funny. I didn't know this because I was too busy thinking about Pac Man and looking angry. I noticed the tapping coming from the heater only moments later, when I furiously looked over at her with a glare that would have stopped blood flow if it wanted to.
In my head it all made perfect sense. She was kicking the heater. Of course! That makes complete sense!!! The quietest girl in the entire class suddenly decided to make a helluva racket. Right. As I was glaring at her, I was thinking "WHY is she doing that? That's ridiculous! I was becoming SO angry it was scaring me! Then I realized that she wouldn't do that, and I felt completely stupid.
After about 2 more hours of ridiculous mood swings, I'm happy to report that I was back to [my] normal. Note to self: No more Sudafed before 10:00 a.m. Cheers!

Homecoming, Ebola, and Small Children

To the date, it has been exactly a week since my school's homecoming dance. Must I say I rocked it. With the help of my date of course. More on that later. To preface my tale, I have been sick consecutively for the past three weeks, with no breaks. While the ailments have varied, I have been slightly miserable since late September. Through homecoming week, I missed two days of school, and vomited more than I care to mention. However, I was only sick in the mornings, and by the afternoon felt relatively fine. In comparison to the a.m., by the p.m. I was cured. No, I am not pregnant. By the time Saturday the 18th rolls around, I'm feeling comparably fine. By the morning of the 18th, I was the sickest I had been in all. I was severely dehydrated, had no more bile left, and was sore from heaving to get the bile out. Long story [somewhat] short, I gave my date a call and politely [but pathetically] explained that I wouldn't be able to go to homecoming, and that I was honestly crushed. And I was. I made my judgment too quickly though, because I was not only able to make it to my 2:15 p.m. hair appointment, but I was also able to get ready, and go out with my date. I felt fabulous, to say the least. I wasn't complaining either.
So my sister arrives at my house to see me off, and sneakily snaps some shots, and then asks [for what reason I'm not sure] if she can take our picture [she would have anyway, even if we had said no]. Since my mom doesn't get very excited about stuff like this, my sister was a great fill in for her. My sister was also 9 months pregnant at the time. Naturally, I was joking with her that should she have her baby whilst we were gone, she should give us a call, and we could come see her in the hospital once the birthing process was over. She replied with a witty "If you come home and find a small child in your bed, you'll know I had the baby" [referring to my niece, who would stay with her grents (my parents) while her rents were in the hospital]. My niece also was able to sneak into one of the pictures.
Before going to the actual dance, the group my date and I were in went to dinner. WOW! The food was great, once the millennium passed that it took to get to our tables from the kitchen. Not only that, but the restaurant didn't take reservations, so we waited in line for ten years before getting in. No biggie. We talked. And should have sung songs. When we were eventually seated, we were introduced to our waiters [Dave and Brie], who were very polite, but extremely unhelpful. We decided that Dave had to have something wrong with him. We also decided as we were pulling out of the parking lot and ran over the curb that we in reality ran over Dave for being so rude to us.
Next, we actually did go to the dance. It was at an ice rink. Who holds a formal dance at an ice rink? My school. Duh. It was cold, it was somewhat miserable [because it was cold], and it was bi-polar temperature wise. You see, the actual ice rink was available for use, but the dance portion of the dance was held in an event room on the top floor. The room was separated from the man portion of the rink by two lobbies of space. Pious bovine. Once you crossed the threshold of those doors, you were introduced immediately to a solid wall of sweat and humidity. It would have been more humorous had it not been so real. That and the modern dance music made the dance portion of the evening highly entertaining.
Ironically, the next day, my sister did have her baby, and I now have a new nephew. He's pretty ugly in human terms, but in newborn terms, he's adorable. The thing about babies is that they've been cooped up in an enclosed watery prison for nine months give or take a few, so they're wrinkly and nasty looking. They really get cute only after about a month or two of serious drying out. He'll only get cuter. Cheers.

Ridiculous Rules, Amazing Mascara, and Ultimate Humiliation

Tonight has to be one of the most humiliating evenings I have had in a long while. School was actually half decent, and now this, to blow all of my plans up. I should start by saying that at about 2:00 a.m. this morning I woke up with terrible throbbings in both of my eyes. I think the best way to describe it would to say that it felt like there were forks pushing down and in from the tops of my eyeballs, and the optic nerves were being severely traumatized beyond believe. I am thoroughly surprised that I can still see anything. Accompanying this lovely sensation, was the most intriguing version of reverse peristalsis that I have ever experienced. No detail necessary. This followed suit about ever 20 minutes for the next four hours. Along with the amazing vomiting and blunt trauma, I was incredibly cold. For the record, it snowed today, and it's only October. I was completely wrapped up in my blankets, two sweatshirts, a long sleeve shirt, fleece pj pants, longjanes, socks, AND gloves. Logically, I should have been warm. Anywho, so that went on until I had to get up for school, which I tend to forget starts 20 minutes late on Fridays. I looked like crap today because I was hurrying to get ready for school at the normal time. I was sick enough to not be able to keep any food down, so I skipped breakfast. Bad idea. So I get to school, am dieing, feel like calling my mom to come get me, but can't because I have three major tests spread throughout the day. First period, second period, and fifth period. Sixth period is my favorite [English, and I have the most amazing teacher that could ever exist!!!], so there was no way I would just skip that. Because of the order of my tests and classes, I was forced to stay the entire day.
When I got home, one of my good friends called me and asked if I wanted to go to a gathering at his house. I checked with my rents, called him back, and said yes. So I get somewhat cute, pick out an outfit, build my makeup with my new AMAZING mascara [p.s. I'm highly addicted to mascara], and went to his house. However, my dad insisted that he meet my friend's parents before he left. He's always been this way, but never to the extent of actually insisting on going to their house and meeting them. Usually it's when my guys come over and hang out. It turned out that his parents weren't home [but I didn't know this], and my dad was ridiculous enough to not let me stay. My rents were on their way to my sister's house, and I had no place else to go [seeing as my original destination had been blown to smithereens by my ruthless parents], so I went with them. I sat in the car and fumed the entire time. How dare they humiliate me in front of my friends? How dare they insult me by implying that I'm too immature and irresponsible to hang out with friends without parental supervision? How dare they make me cry enough to ruin an almost perfect makeup job? I suppose they have their reasons, even though they're the dumbest reasons that are ever to exist. So now that I'm done with my whiny-teenage-girl rant, I suppose I'll go work on something else, but that doesn't mean I'm not mad at them still. Cheers! Or, more like, Tears!

Snakes, Swine, and Imports

As the week progresses, I find that I have more time to reflect about the past, and more importantly what is to come. LAME!!! xD
So... Apparently because I was protectively coddling the watermelon container under the table I'm a hog. What can I say? I did offer it to everybody else, and they declined. Plus, it's my favorite fruit. Who wouldn't want to defend it all?
Today on the usual cardio-trip from hell on the 85ºer, I happened to run over the most disgusting vertebrate in the entire universe. A SNAKE!!! That's horrifying, especially for someone as defenseless against fears me! I screamed as I ran over it, stopped about 30' ahead of it [which was stupid because that just meant the I would have to get going again] and looked back at the hideous thing lying with it's entrails sprawled out over the pavement. YUCK!!! As my mom passed it, she just laughed and rode ahead of me. I happened to be having a panic attack, not breathing, and screaming at the jogger-dog combo passing that there was a SNAKE in the middle of the path! The alarm in my voice must have been more convincing to her than to my mom, seeing as she just ran faster. The snake was absolutely gigantic! It had to be AT LEAST 4' long, and 3" in diameter! It was awful! When I finally had the guts to move on from the idiotic snake, I had to catch up to my mom who was already ¼ mile ahead of me, and explain to her how traumatizing that had been, to unsympathetic ears of course. Later in the grueling expedition, we came upon another nasty, squished out, mutilated snake, but this one wasn't as big. It was only 3' long. Still super horrendous.
Earlier in a 1.5 hour period of A.P. U.S. History [one of the most ridiculous classes in the history of ridiculous classes], we were having a class discussion about yesterday's presentations of various important battles on the road to revolution. My group's battle happened to be when Washington crossed the Delaware River... twice. We were the third group yesterday, so naturally we were the third group today in the review. Fine. I can handle that. The order of questions our teacher asked was "a] where b]when c] why and d] importance?" Because my teacher is not prone to circumlocution, she abbreviated "importance" and "import." I'm not ashamed of what happened next, because the other brilliant chica in my group was thinking the same thing. When she asked us the "import" of our battle, we both said "no, there was no import." Being the third group, you would have thought we would have caught on to the clever shortened homophone she used. Of course our teacher proceeded to say "oh come on you guys, you know the importance!" Then it clicked, and we both felt really stupid. It was pretty amazing, because it not only encouraged us to pay more attention, but it produced a vociferous uproar of laughter from the class, which we paid a cheap expense for.
In conclusion [who says that?! Well duh it's in conclusion! It's almost over!], this concludes the semi-interesting events of today. Cheers!

Spandex, College Fairs, and Egg Flavored Grapes

Because I have one of the nicest mothers in the history of nice mothers, my mom brings me breakfast every morning when I'm getting ready, and it's usually attuned to my taste. Once in awhile however, a glass of skim milk slips in there. If I don't drink milk in the first place [milk is for cereal and baby cows! Unless it's chocolate....], why would I drink skim by itself? Sure, it stays colder longer, but that's why it's the perfect mate for cold cereals, hence the cold in cold cereal. This morning, I got one of my favorite hot cereals ever [wheat berries], a hard egg, grapes, and yogurt. I was ecstatic. Breakfast is 33.33% my favorite meal of the day. The wheat berries were awesome, as was the yogurt. The egg was a little leaky, and affected the flavor of the grapes, due to them sharing a plate. I won't say that egg flavored grapes are my favorite.
Today we as juniors and seniors of our high school were given the two hour opportunity to visit the annual college fair, to decide if and where we want to attend. I'll just start by saying that the colleges I plan on attending weren't even represented. Great. That leaves me with one hour and 55 minutes to do nothing but walk around to colleges that I'm not even interested in. Luckily, I found some good friends of mine, and we high-tailed it out of the seemingly penitentiary grove centre, and down to the middle of Boise. There's not much open in Boise before 11:00 a.m., and because of this, we had limited lunch possibilities. Happily, we found an Italian bread/sammich shop open, which had amazing sammiches, and cookies. While in our discussions there, a gentleman who was seated at the table next to ours was shocked to hear that one of my friends' birthday was the same day as his. This most definitely opened up some friendly conversation, and I learned that he will be 36 this Saturday. Seriously? He looked like he was 25 or less. Too bad he was too old for me. He was way cute. Finally, we determined that we should meander back to the rest of our group, we made it barely in enough time to catch the bus taking us back to our school.
That was exciting. What's more exciting, but really sad at the same time, is that I've begun to feel pretty in my nasty, grungy gym clothes. Yes. I know. It's disgusting. I know that. But there's just something appealing about seeing myself in a t-shirt and short[ish] shorts, with no curves to speak of. Don't ask me why, I wouldn't even be able to think of a rational explanation as to why. Anywho, I should probably attend to my mounds of homework that are waiting to assassinate me. Cheers!

Long Distance, Agony, and School Pictures

May I just start out by saying that today was more hideous that my future hairless cat? Yes. It really was that bad. Apparently Pocotello is long distance in the phone district, and the two hour phone call I made on a land line didn't help my status either. $130.90 later, I find out that it is long distance, and yes, I personally have to pay for it, even though that sounds entirely like a threat. A terrible day was in the making when at 6:30 a.m. my alarm went off, I rolled over and slapped it up, and then woke up 40 minutes later. After an awful hair and make up job because I'm almost entirely out of mascara, I head out for school, only to discover that I'm late for my first class, AND I got a 74% on the test we'd had the week before. Math was as confusing as ever, until I cleared most of it up with my teacher. Skip to sixth period, and I'm suppose to edit my paper, which I'll admit I'm highly bias towards, so I don't even think it needs editing. My teacher agreed thoroughly with me, so I couldn't complain there. I come home angry, and leave for my cardio angry, so of course I feel like punishing myself for not being able to do anything right by taking the long loop several times around, plus extra. When I get home, I start on my math homework, fail, and move on. Did I mention I got my school pictures back today? What is it with pictures! They always look bad! This is definitely not what I want to be remembered as for my junior year. Great Scot of Ireland, there's no way in hell I'd keep this. Anywho, I suppose I'm off to practice something GOOD in my life, my piano. Cheers.

Prunes, October, and The Powdered Milk Man

I suppose life would be better if it weren't an entire 22º in my house, and my fingers weren't icicles. But since the powdered milk man is coming after me, I suppose it's ok. Need I explain? Well you see, one of my favorite groups called "The Aquabats" have a song called "Powdered Milk Man," which I recently listened to. Naturally, like all amazing songs, it's now stuck in my head. Being October and all, I figure it makes sense. Why? I'm not sure.
Anywho, as I was cleaning my basement this morning, I discovered a stash of prunes in my cupboard [upstairs] which I happily packed off with. I should probably confess that I absolutely adore prunes. I know, I accept many gibes from my peers because of it, but truly, deep down, I love the soft, squishy pulp which commonly repulses most people. I think prunes fall into the same underrated category as black licorice: it's not an acquired taste, because it's not something that's so nasty that people keep eating it until they like it, it's either you love it or you absolutely hate it. I believe there has been some research done about back licorice and it's fans, and the results were that if a pregnant mother liked and consumed black licorice, her child had better chances of appreciating it than a child who's mother did not consume black licorice during her pregnancy.
Also because it's October, I have noticed a dramatic increase in Christmas themed merchandise in stores. This is one reason I abhor the entire Christmas season: from September until December 26th, 12:01 a.m. I have nothing against Christmas, but I do loath the retched Carols and "music" of the blasted holiday, especially when most radio stations select the absolute worst and play it non-stop. There are two Christmas songs which I actually appreciate, and those would be "Oh Holy Night," and "What Child Is This." Another bothersome issue about Christmas, is that once it's happened, stores and other retailers are more than antsy the get the merchandise off of their shelves. What's with that?
Lastly, I've decided that I should join the no-pants club of America, more commonly known as the NPA. I have come to this conclusion because of my newfound disdain for pants, and my overall partiality to skirts and dresses. Here I'll end, because I'm starting to not make sense, even to myself. Cheers.

Brownies, Cards, and Man Drama.

Yesterday was a fairly normal day. I came home from school on the smelly, obscene bus, threw down my junk, skipped the cardio, started to clean my house, became distracted, went back to cleaning, practiced piano, didn't do homework, circled back to cleaning, checked my facebook, cleaned some more, got in the shower, started to make brownies, ran out of eggs, went to WINCO for eggs, finished the brownies, intercepted a few friends who arrived on time, did my hair and makeup, burned my brownies, became exceedingly frustrated and angry, waited for more people to arrive, played oh heck, gave directions to my house, lost at oh heck, greeted the next three people to arrive, played nertz, lost at nertz, served brownies, played apples to apples, won apples to apples, took various gibes and abuses throughout the evening, and sent everyone home.
I suppose the entire evening would not have been so bad if certain companies hadn't mixed, the brownies hadn't burned, and if certain drama hadn't promptly followed after most of the guests left.
I have never realized how intense male drama can be, until I recently I experienced its wrath first hand. Without going into detail, it seems that the more guys you have in one place that a] don't know each other, b] like the same chick, c] don't care to know each other, or d] all of the above, the more tension there is. The tension last night was so thick I probably could have sliced it with my tongue.
I really don't have anything else to say, other than that I learned to not let oil and water mix. Cheers.

Modern Modern "Music"

I have thoroughly decided that the so called "modern hip hop" music, if you can call it that, is absolutely abominable. For the past few [as in four] days, I have been working on an experiment for my psychology class, in determining whether music and lyrics, as well as different genres of music, affect the content of dreams. Through this study, I have listened to the radio, particularly hip hop, for the previous two nights while I sleep. Also through this study, I have determined that the DJ working the late shift is lazy and plays the same playlist of songs every night, in the same order, versus new songs to make it random. The main songs played are "Dangerous" by Kardinal Offishall, "Bleeding Love" by Leona Lewis, "What About Now" by Daughtry, "One Step At A Time" by Jordan Sparks, "Paper Planes" by M.I.A., "American Boy" by Estelle featuring Kanye West, and "Disturbia" by Rhianna. Three out of the seven mentioned are actually decent, if you can handle the three primary chords in the same order, for three to five minutes. The rest are absolutely a mutated form of dry speech set to rhythm.
Not only have people become more accustomed to the same filtered down junk they like to call hip hop.
Today while cardioing, I was listening to the same station, simply because they play more techno with great beats for cardio than any other station in the entire valley. Kanye West's "Love Lockdown" played, and I happened to catch the last twenty seconds of it, and it was horrendous. The mere fact that he receives millions from morons who crave his "music" irritates me beyond belief. The DJ announced that he absolutely loved that song, and was asking for callers to call in and say whether they loved it or hated it, or were tepid towards it. People called in, and raved about the song, saying it was one of the best songs they've ever heard. Apparently they have no musical background, nor ever wish to have one. Then one idiot calls in and says "I'm sorry, I love the song so much, would it trouble you to play it again?" in a more asinine nomenclature of course. So what does the DJ do? He plays the song again. TWICE! IN THREE MINUTES! Now that's just sick. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I strongly suggest you listen to the song to form your own opinion, and then quickly agree with me about it.
This, along with the idiotic block scheduling for school has made this day one of the most retched days of the entire school year. However, I will say that I was able to hang with friends after school [due to missing my bus, even though it's a Wednesday], which made life a little better. Cheers.

Hills, Sterioids and Cuss Words

Ok, go ahead and ask me why I have a pair of dirty black and white checkered socks along with the circle of fifths by me as I research. I dare you.
Fine fine, I'll say that it's because one of my good friends just called to ask me about black holes and the most recent activities with CERN, and lo and behold I found my socks. From yesterday. By the phone. He ended up asking me why I let him get dust on his paintbrush...ok? Anywho, I was also at the moment in an intense game of Scrabble, though it be online. It wasn't that I was trying to get rid of him, but in a way, I really was. You see, my parents aren't as into the tech age as the rest of us, resulting in a corded phone in a crappy exchange of a cordless. That's my next gift to them.
Yesterday, I went to a routine appointment with my otologist, which required the routine pain in the rump shots to the ear, of a steroid to help with scaring, and preventing the growth of new scar material. Great, those feel amazing. But don't take my word for it. Because of the lovely stinging in my ears for about a week afterwards, I tend to be a little irrationally angry about the obnoxious pains in my earlobes.
On the way home [via the smelly bus], I once again discovered how idiotic people can be, and how much I dislike the annoying ones. My gosh, people are stupid. A charming 40 minutes later as I storm into my house [all drama like], I decide [quite forcefully] that my mom and I are going on a bike ride. There is nothing better for anger and pride than a good, long, arduous session of cardio. Nothing hits your ego harder either. Sensing my radiating fury with her extra sensory mom perception, she jovially said "Let's take the cemetery route." Fantastic! I thought to myself. I could do with some hills. Of course I was on flatland when I said that. After the first hill [mind you it was a BIG hill! It had to be at LEAST an 85 degree incline!] I was ready to pack it back home. "No, no," my mother chided, "we must endure to the end." Those are the times when I wish cute little sayings like that would burn in Hell. That was the hill to get up to the hill to get into the cemetery, with more hills yet to come. The hill to get into the cemetery itself has got to be about 900' long, with a 22 degree incline. That is definitely fabulous if you hate your legs. I do. After puffing more than Gustav, we get up to the intersection where you have the opportunity to go left, which is mostly downhill for a bit, or right, which is entirely up hill, until you get to a massive hill that extends down and around the perimeter for about two miles. Feeling the agony of the last two hills, we obviously chose to go left. That was amazing!...until we got to the massive hill spoken about in the right option. Profanities could hardly cover it.
Happily, this marked the halfway mark on this ridiculous session of "I hate life so let's just burn everything." The rest was pretty much down hill from there. Quite a bit easier, and extremely exhilarating.
Once we arrived home, I trotted off [still mostly angry but less tense] to do my ambushing volcano of homework. In retrospective, I do say that the entire situation was rather sardonic, but at the time it was complete Hell. With many more times to come, Cheers.

Real Rubberbands and Functions

Functions in math need to shrivel up and incinerate. I hate them, I stink at them, and Josh, I would ask for your help with this, but I am sort of a visual learner, so if you explained it to me on the phone it would mean close to nothing. Thanks for your offers anywho, I really appreciate them. In addition to the math homework from Hell, I had an orthodontics appointment, which i thoroughly enjoy, sans the plastic taste in my mouth afterwards, and the sounds of metal scraping metal. Those parts I could live without, however, I was excited all day for my appointment. I know, what kind of sick, twisted, freak actually waits for their teeth to be unbearably pained? Me. End of story. I am back to wearing rubber bands, in order to move my jaw the last few millimeters forwards it needs to be, in order to be a fantastic, non-overbitten smile. I'm off to hibernate for the next nine hours or so. Cheers.

Down With the Rubberbands!

So I was sitting in church today at a different ward than my own, was feeling along my braces and discovered something queer. One of the bands holding the brackets in place had either come loose, or completely snapped. Fantastic, I thought. It's no big deal, I'm scheduled for an appointment this Tuesday, so I'll just get it replaced. Then it started to bug me more and more. Why is it that something so small in your mouth is so massive in annoyance or pain? The more I played with it, the more it bugged me. Of course, the logic would be to stop harassing it, and let it be. I suppose that's the logic with most things in life. Anywho, a few hours later [the meeting ran incredibly late], I attended a lunch with my manfriend's family, in honor of his little brother becoming a Priest. Yes, he is only 6 months and 1 day younger than me. Dinner would have been a lot more enjoyable I'm sure if I had remembered my toothbrush, or if I weren't so fixated about having a toothbrush with me at all times. Lunch was lovely, I must say. The rubber irritating my gum was growing unbearable. So what do I do? I play with it, to at least make my time and aggravation worth while. I suppose that's also the logic with most things in life. I also suppose that I should start reading my history chapters for school, and outline them, because I am such a stellar student. Cheers.

If Only I Could Remember Why I'd Love to Kill The Planet

My gosh. In my peregrination today from school to my lovely home on the outskirts of the school district I realized just exactly why I could care less if global warming caused from an excess of oil drilling caused the entire Earth to incinerate. Imagine not only are you late to school today BECAUSE OF YOUR PARENTS, you assuredly flunked the theory test in music that you supposedly know pretty well because you've been in piano lessons for ever, discover that you have absolutely no idea where your friends are because you have no classes with them, but you also are coerced by your parents into riding the bus to conserve fuel and energy. So the end of sixth hour rolls around, and it's time to load the buses, after I scurry through the halls of ridiculous sophomores that DON'T KNOW WHICH SIDE OF THE FLIPPING HALL TO WALK ON, I creep out to the loading dock, or as I have affectionately termed it, Hell's Wharf. I climb into the bus 414 after grabbing at anything I can hold onto so as to not get shoved back into the real world where I would have traded my left kidney to be. Fortunately, I was one of the early arrivers. Apparently, my arrears with Satan have not been anted, and I am to spend the rest of eternity in the fiery pits of Hell. As I walk down the aisle, I take note that there is somebody in every single blasted seat in the entire bus, and even some with two occupants. Great. So obviously, I have to share a seat with someone. Who will I grace with my presence? How about the kid that sat behind me in 8th grade health, who's sister has juvenile diabetes? Sounds great. So I ask him politely if I can sit with him, and he obliges me. Twenty minutes later at least, more people are still crowding in. Eight minutes after that, we leave, with three to a seat, and in some unfortunate cases four. Great Scot, could they not just call another bus? Absolutely not! Three people to a seat didn't work in grade school, much less in high school. What were they thinking?! Was the bus driver high? My gosh I hate people in my space, and hate them even more passionately when they're sitting on me! I have thoroughly decided that I will NOT be riding the bus tomorrow. Supposedly, it takes a mere 15 minutes to get from my school to my home. No. Not even close. Try 75 minutes, and that was the abridged edition. Yes, that's right, the driver even edited some stops from the initial route. I am done riding the bus. I suppose it would be ok if it were quiet, and had some breathing room and even windows that opened. But sadly, it does not, does not, and finally does not. Here I surcease my anger so I can sleep peacefully this evening. More later, if you're lucky. Cheers.

Grow Up People!

I have recently discovered one of the saddest truths in life, and that is that no matter how much you might want something to go a certain way, chances are, it won't. For example, earlier this evening I suggested that I attend an event tomorrow with a certain boy who is as close to me as a few of my brothers are. I have no interest in dating him, nor does he in me. Trust me, I'm not being naive when I say this, because I absolutely know there's no romantic interest in either parties. The reason I say this is because we've been through that before, and now we're over it. Anywho, so my 'rents are still calling it a date, even though I see it strictly as hanging out. To my dismay, they refuse to see it simply as hanging out, and strictly as a date. In which case, they would like me to not be singularly dating, so they're considering not letting me attend this event. The way they see a date is anything that is preplanned forw, which is entirely understandable. I didn't ask them to, I was merely requesting that they accept that I don't date every guy I hang out with. They did not, I repeat DID NOT change their opinion that a date is an event certain date and time, with a certain person[s] of the opposite gender. If that were evenly remotely true, everything I went to with a guy would be a date, and I would have no control over who I choose to date. That being said, I like to think that I do have control of whom I date, meaning that I choose my own dates.
Naturally, taking the role of the parent, they refused to change their point of vieeir view one teeny bit! I was slowly becoming outraged. This entire situation was becoming so ridiculous and outlandish that I decided to take my plate [yes, this is our usual dinner table discussion] and my glass of grapes and stormed off to my room. Ok, I admit, that might have been childish, but I was overly sick of my parents' immaturity in this area.
As I'm sitting in my room with my now cold plate of magnificent Mongolian BBQ, the first thing I do after entering is put on my favorite pair of Steve Maddens, sit on my bed and pout, like any teenage drama queen. In my mind I can imagine myself sitting on my bed in stilettos that do NOT match my outfit in ANY way, eating cold stir-fry and amazing grapes, thinking of how ridiculous my parents are treating me. Typical drama queen, no? I suppose now that I'm somewhat more calm I can go back to my cold-er food and iced water. Cheers.

Good Bye Summer

Since school is about to start, it seems that the entire world has been pumped up to super speed. In my experience with school, it's like the last week and a half before it actually begins is the most frantic time the entire year. I think it trumps the day and after Thanksgiving, AND the week before Christmas when people are still trying to figure out what to send relatives, and then quickly blame the postal service for it's lateness in arrival. Good grief, it has NOT been three months since the last day of school. I suppose the month of summer school helped wast my summer, as well as the month of camps and vacation. Since I've arrived home, there has been exactly two weeks and two days to count until the beginning of school.
Not only that, but various early morning adventures such as peer mediating meetings, doctors' appointments, and aggravating phone calls have accelerated the feeling of summer.
I suppose I should get used to life flying by, seeing as how everybody says "You'll only be young once, so don't waste it!" My question is how are we not supposed to waste our youth when we're stuck in school for nine months, eight hours a day? That's enough time to grow a baby!
Anywho, I suppose I'll go gather my supplies and plan the next month and a half of outfits, merely so I can sleep at night. Cheers.