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.