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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.
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.
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.
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.
