I didn't fail my Pre-Calc final! I got a B!

and now it becomes painfully obvious that I am, in fact, a teenage girl.

              It all began second period today. Well, not really. Technically it began last June-ish, but we're starting at second period last Friday. You see, I write for The Brave Times, which is by far the coolest school newspaper on the face of this earth. Oh, and we're basically broke.
             So last Friday we had a little meeting about how we're broke, and we need to get ads or all of our hard work will go to waste and no colleges will want us and our parents will all hate us and think we're failures. Needless to say, it was a rather inspiring meeting, so we all went out into the world that day with high hopes to save our beloved school newspaper from going under.
              And who do I run into later that day (in Jazz band, to be specific) but the super-cool owner of our local music shop! So I came up to him, and I said, "Hey Pete! Would you like to advertise with our school newspaper?"
             And Pete, a strapping young lad of about 60, with spiked hair, blue jeans and tennis shoes replied "Sure!" And here's where the problems started.
            You see, when I do something well, or I am the first to do it (in this case, the first to procure an advertisement), I tend to get carried away. So this morning I marched into Journalism, and drew a little chart on the board mapping out our fundraising endeavours. And I was quite certain I would get the most ads ever. I would be an ad selling goddess.

            After school today I found that my carpool would not arrive until three forty-five, so I figured "Hey, I'll just walk down to those shops, and see if any of them would like to put an ad in the paper!" Which is where problem number two arises-- like most teen girls, I am weary of going places by myself. Not because of any practical reason, like safety, but because I (a very awkward person to begin with) find that having someone with you exponentially decreases the risk of an awkward encounter with a stranger or uninvited aquaintence.
            So I scoped out the area, and feasted my eyes upon my good(looking) buddy Fabio*! So I went to talk to Fabio for a while, and mentioned what I was going to do, and he volunteered to come along. So we walked over to the shopping center (along the way I fell of 2 curbs and ran into a wall), and began our sales-pitching.
            As far as the selling went, it was pretty sucessful; we talked to the guys at the card shop, the flower shop, the bike shop, and the book shop, and got a definite "yes" from one, and a "probably" from the rest. So we were feeling pretty good by the time we started heading back to school. Until we started talking about finals.
       I think the time has come to describe Fabio; he is probably around 5'9" or 5'10" and has shoulder length dirty-blonde hair, oh, and the bone structure of a god. Handsome or not, he still looked kinda sketchy with all that hair, which is why you must understand that the mistake I made was not completey baseless.
        Well, the conversation had to lead there eventually, what with finals looming over our heads like a dead goose and all, but what I didn't know at the time was that Fabio is an accomplished baker. So when he mentioned he had to "bake" before finals, I was definately a bit taken aback.
           I'm not quite sure how much my readers know about "baking", but it has two meanings, one is the baking in which you make cookies, or chicken, or a pie. The other is where you (by some means or another) put illicit substances into your body in order to get high. Needless to say, I assumed he was talking about the latter.
         To spare myself some embarassment here, I will not include any details, but after much confusion I realized he was talking about the perfectly socially-acceptable form of baking, which he could most definitely talk about in front of my mother without risk of life or limb (although she may question his manhood).
          In any case, here I was looking the fool with this wonderful(ly attractive) friend of mine, who carried my books and opened doors for me; the friend I had just accused of planning to get high before finals. And he wasn't even offended.
           And now here I am writing what is probably my longest post ever because I wish every boy in the world was exactly like Fabio instead of the majority, who are much more like DJ Vilardo in my 5th period english class; you know, the not-so-attractive boy that thinks its okay to make comments about your Ruben-esque figure? Yeah, that one.


Well, at least everyone knows why I'm not going to pass my Pre-Calc final tomorrow.

*No, his name's not actually Fabio. Oh, and if you're reading this, we're not just friends because you're good looking. But it'd be a lie to say that isn't a factor.
          

What to do if some guy tries to eye-flirt with your best friend during a musical.

1. Make sure it is a guy, and not a bear. Bears tend to eye-flirt with their prey, it's a sort of pre-tenderizing process. If it is a guy, proceed to step 3. If it is a bear, proceed to step 2.

2. As savage creatures of death, bears hate music. Especially pop-y "High School Musical"-esque stuff, but no matter what, chances are your friend is going to die. However, all is not lost; depending on the size of your friend, you may have a chance to escape with your life in the 10-15 seconds it takes a bear to eat friends.

3. Assuming this eye-flirter is a guy, access his attractiveness. If he is reasonably attractive, gently elbow your friend and wink at her and proceed to step 5. If he is unattractive, or otherwise offensive to the eyes, proceed to step four.

4. It seems you have encountered what modern teens refer to as a "fugly". The best way to rid your friend of this "fugly" is to refer to her in a loud whisper as "babe" and put your arm around her. If he is not detered by this, a direct approach becomes necessary; look very concerned and loudly whisper, "There is a fugly staring at you". He'll get the point.

5. Huzzah, your friend seems to have attracted the attention of a worthy suitor! After the winking and nudging, alert all of your other friends in the vicinity. Giggle loudly. Make this boy feel uncomfortable, to ensure he can stand the societal pressures that come with being with your friend.

6. If he hasn't run away yet, get his contact information and stalk him for several days, preferably via the internet. Demand your friend to tell you EVERYTHING he's said.

7. Begin to doubt his manliness, I mean, you DID meet him at a musical....

8. Demand your friend to interrogate him about this. Although she may have lost a romantic prospect, you guys may have a new GBF!

9. If he hasn't been scared away yet, he's probably the one. Begin wedding planning immediately, avoid coral on the bridesmaids, and don't invite any bears.

What to do if your dad comes home reeking of pee and pine-sol

1. Ensure that it is in fact your father, and not a pine-sol covered bear (although they are more likely to smell like pine-sol and death)

2. If it is your father, proceed to step 3. If it is a bear, try offering up any small child or pet in the vicinity (this will only buy you the 3-5 seconds it takes a bear to devour children/pets)

3. Take an overly dramatic whiff, feign choking (depending on the concentration of the pine-sol, and your proximity to your father, you may feel lightheaded after this step).

4. If he has not yet rushed to your immediate aid, continue for several minutes while moaning. When he asks what's wrong, say you must be having a reaction to something foreign in the air, and ask where he's been

5. When he says something like "I washed the floor with pine-sol, rolled around in it, then spent all day doing intense manual labour" Ask him (as your last request, as you are surely going to die any moment) to take a shower.

6. While he's in the shower, obtain rubber gloves. Immediately throw anything he may have been wearing (sweaters, shoes, ets) into the fireplace and burn. If you still have time, scrub everything he touched since his arrival. Don't use pine-sol.

7. When your father returns from his shower, he will be so relived that the light of his life is still alive that he won't even ask where his favorite sweater and shoes are. You win!

 

So yesterday,

Liz and I made the world a little better with our song, which can be viewed here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhK0-tJ1nsk&feature=player_embedded

and we walked around her block, ate in-and-out and got a whole new view on beetles....

D:

Yeah, we're cute.

This is 9000% awesome.

Today was awful.

I'm not going to go into specifics, but I do have to go to The Boneyard tomorrow to get my slide unbent :|.
And thanks to some special band kids, I might have to pay for water damage for three books.
And thanks to four tests in one day, I think my brain is broken.
And thanks to my one friend that actually asked me how I was doing, I probably won't go too insane.


This is me right now:

 

but with more devastation.

Hey McBride,

Although Liz was a little soft with her request, I won't be.

If you don't post soon, you're in trouble.

and now I regale you with a tale from my childhood.

...which is also a Christmas story!
well, a pre-Christmas story.....

A few weeks before Christmas (when I was around 6 or 7) we got our Christmas tree, a six-foot-something Douglas fir that was beautiful on one side, and a little homely on the other. So we did what we always do and just hid the ugly half in the corner, and began decorating. Now you see, I was not a particularly tall child, but I did have a zest for Christmas, which is why the bottom third of the tree was beautifully ordained with little nut crackers and glass ornaments, and the top looked a little dismal. So I, Chloe Keedy, patron saint of the Christmas trees, decided to do something about it, but we had run out of  suitable ornaments. Reasonably, I tried rearranging the ornaments to fit, but I knew I needed one more ornament to really pull it all together- and then I saw them on the table. Ten silver, shiny, keys on a keychain just begging to be hung up in the celebratory hunk of dead wood that was in all essence my brainchild. So I did.

A few hours later my mother needed her keys, and I, having finished adorning the dead hunk of wood and leaves in my living room and gone on to other tasks, had forgotten all about them. Which is how my mother, father, sister, and I spent a good hour searching for those keys.

Listenin' to the pixies and feeling... fine?

writing a few poems for English (no, not extras, I was absent, hahah). Also "Here comes your man" by the Pixies is making me love everything. Especially this cold weather! Finally, a real reason to break out the Amsterdam hat! Which, btw, is an instant disguise maker!

Where did Chloe go? Who is this attractive bearded man?!

THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW.

Also, 

I wish there was a "Venn Diagrams" class.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch....

Today Jordan (a lovely freshman in Journalism class!) was called "Chloe" (aka me) by some mutual aquantence because she reminds her of me. Mr. Rubel popped in and said (something along the lines of)

"No, Jordan would never walk into a class, say 'I'm better than all of you' and leave"

I lmao'd.

So I turned in my project today,

and although (as most of you know) I have a hard time admitting when someone's project (or whatever) is equal to/better than mine, especially when I'm REALLY proud of it... but dang! There were some nice ones!

In other news, only 2 more weeks of marching band! Then I get to ressurect my grades.

In an ideal world, girls could fly. and shoot laser beams out of their eyes.

Rachel Riehn can do both.

and that's why she's my best friend.

Why my epic project now needs surgery.

I was walking through the hall today when some very rude girl shoved (no, not like "whoops" but like BAM) into me and broke my project. Which I have spent over 15 hours working on. I cried a little. But it's fixable.

but still. D:

In other news:

This post will probably not offend you unless you are a clam, a tomato, or my neglected homework.

Why doesn't anyone like clamato?
It's probably the best tomato-related drink ever. and clam juice?! Yum!!
I'll be your friend, clamato!
We'll take v8 down.

To any followers who I may have offended with my previous post,

my apologies. Upon re-reading said post (it's been deleted) I thought to myself

"Wow. what a scummy thing to say. What would your father think?!"
then I imagined my father saying
"CHLOE! HOW DARE YOU! That is not the way you talk to another human being! I'm dissapointed"
and cue me hating myself a little.

So once again, I apologize, and to anyone who may have read that post, it was in the heat of the moment, and I'm sure you'll understand what happens when people are (extremely) offended, and have easy access to the internet. Maybe I'll invest in a journal.

this is what my face looked like when I realized how offensive that was:

but more sad. and more blood tears.

What to do if you accidentally drip honey all over your keyboard

1. Flip keyboard over.
2. Continue eating whatever you were eating that dripped honey on your keyboard (if you were not eating honey, check behind you for bears. Or don't. You'll presumably die either way)
3. wet one corner of cloth with warm water
4. remove honey without ruining keyboard
5. dry with the rest of the cloth
6. check again for bears, as the honey may have attracted them.
7. if there is a bear, quickly write a will on something that is not likely to be destroyed by a bear attack.
8. give all your stuff to Chloe.

Dear Trick or treaters,

Please stop coming over to my block from east-jesus nowhere. REALLY.
and if you must, at least wear a coustume,
no, underwear doesn't count as a costume,
and if you're over 12, don't knock on my door.
Because I will go crazy one of these years, and do something drastic,
and it could happen to you.
Thanks.

The start of the most epic project ever.

Watch out, McB. I'm a project beast. I LOVE PROJECTS.
REALLY.
I. LOVE. PROJECTS.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Also I'm weaning off the actual typed text in my pictures,

it lacks character.

But I'm left handed, and it's hard to write on paint in the first place.

So this might take awhile.

I'm losing it.

I need a break.



Human Beans

definately took over my day today.
I couldn't stop drawing them.
AHHHHHH

Yeah, I just whored out the same picture I put on Tumblr.

Deal with it.

Also I made a kick-bootay poster for Rubel,

and a card for McBride, who was really surprised that I used "you're" right for some reason.

Hey, I'm not retarded.

Thanks.

This cold is cramping my style.

Well, delaying it. I wanted to wear an awesome dress today (definition of awesome: has pockets and only costs $10) but it's raining. So I tried to put on Doc Martins to offset frostbite. Except it was still too cold. So I put on jeans. And a jacket. But then I couldn't really move, so I changed into.... a tee shirt. And removed the Doc Martins.

Which is why it needs to stop raining.

So I dont spend over 10 minutes getting ready ever again.

McBride AND his wife follow me. Suck on that, world!

If you're reading this McB, you should know that our girl scout handbook quoted Swift.
YEAH. It was awesome.

If you're reading this Ms. McB, you're still cooler than him. Even though I have no idea what you look like, I'm going to draw you. I like to think you're a dragon-dinosaur. Because only a dragon-dinosaur could delay me editing my all-important article about bedbugs for the school paper (yeah, bedbugs. For reals.) and blog.
Okay, maybe not. But still.

Best antifeminist argument ever.

Well, maybe not ever. But it was good.

Aunt: You wouldn't be wearing pants if there weren't feminists
Me: You wouldn't be wearing cotton if there weren't slaves.

I win.

Why today was substantially better than any other day for the past month or so.

Today I went on a feild trip for the first time since 8th grade. Four girls from Journalism and I rode in the rickety old school van all the way to the University of LaVerne for Communications Day.

It was amazing.

Yeah. I'm pretty certain I have to be friends with Katelyn, Aurora, Angelis, and Christina for the rest of my life. I'll try to explain the awesomeness pictorally.

*I did not say vagrant. But I did say I was thinking of becoming a professional Jazz musician. Which is just as good.

**I honestly can't remember what they said. I'm sorry.



And they still like me! (or at least pretend to...) Maybe they'll stop, because I'm pretty sure I spelt everyone's name wrong. My apologies.

and to end this on a good note....

Did you know some lady knowingly rode around with a mummified homless lady in her backseat for 3-10 months? 

So when do I get to the "real world"?

I posted this on tumblr like a month ago but I'm deleting a good chunk of my stuff on there and making it just my (mediocre) poetry. But I love this post and I want it to live. If you're insane and want proof that other people are too, chloekiyoko.tumblr.com

I want to be real. Not like “real” like I’m not being myself… because I am me, and that’s all I can ever be. But I would like to feel permanent. Like if I left someone would would say “hey, I miss that girl. She did something good for my life” Not just fade to the back of peoples memories.
You see, I’ve been thinking about leaving. To college. To life. Whatever. The point is, Alta Loma just isn’t cutting it for me right now. I’ve lived in the same room in the same house for the entirety of my young life. I want to get out.
I want to be in the “real world”. You know, like what all those grown-ups talk about. Like when I graduate high school I’ll get sucked into some vortex, and be spit out in a cubicle wearing an awkwardly fitting pantsuit.
But I’d rather wear ugly pantsuits than be lied to. Because if there’s no vortex and no life changing alteration that comes from basically wasting four years of my life in this purgatorial wasteland, I’m going to be pissed.

I realized today that I can't swallow a drink and breath in at the same time.

But this story isn't about me. This is about how my mom tramatized a whole class of kindergarteners today.

When my mom was about thirteen, she had an accident on a skateboard and knocked all of her front teeth (precisely why I've never been on one). Anywho, she got a replacement set and all was fine and dandy... sort of. My mother is exceedingly accident-prone, especially when it comes to her teeth (they've been knocked out by the dog, a sprinkler, our van...).

So my mom is teaching phonetics today to her kindergarteners when.... yep. Her tooth goes sailing across the room into the crowd of thoroughly disillusioned 5-year olds. Now my mother is not the youngest lady in town, and could not find her tooth, so she employs the help of a few of her students to retreive it for her, after which she convinces them she is the witch from Hanzel and Gretel (which they read earlier in the day) and is likely to eat them up if they don't behave.

Moral of this story? Mom rocks.

This post was originally an angry ramble. But now it's different.

stop making me hate you. You wouldn't have to waste all that energy flipping me off for that snarky comment if you weren't blocking my pathway with your escapades. Yeah, I get it, you're in motherf***ing love. STOP RUBBING IT IN MY FACE. The cuteness is burning my eyeballs out. I don't think your tongue will fall off if you keep it in your mouth just two more seconds. And if I'm trying to talk to you I will not stop in the middle of my sentence so you can mac on your honey. really. You're making me hate everyone and everything.

Things are better now because Holly Hart and I got pie. And I almost let go of my hate for awhile. Sometimes I think I'm Ingrid. Other days I'm Jocasta. But I'm never the hero. Maybe I'll buy an acordian and join a band. Maybe I'll fall off the earth.

Listen to Cocaine Blues (Johnny Cash). You'll be a better person.

This is why I shouldn't be allowed on the internet.

Yesterday on a whim, I google'd a name I had come across earlier in the day: John Wayne Gacy.
NEVER EVER DO THAT.
My face looked something like this:

I consoled myself by thinking of the difference between hair bands and Hair Bands

And I listened to "The View" by Modest Mouse. You should too. They're great.

I love my friends.

Really. And not like I love puppies, or tacos, or shoes. I REALLY love my friends. And not just my BESTBESTBEST friends either (well, yeah they're included, but not just them) . People don't realize how the little stuff makes me feel so good.

Take Holly Hart for example. She is so pretty and great she could probably go her whole life without ever having to be nice. But she is a total sweet-hart (pun intended). She says something nice to me everyday, and even though I only see her in one class a day, I love her to death.

Or Dylan Price. He cheered me up by saying "Pretend ---- forgot her gauntlets... then blew up" which led me to imagine this:



Which made me forget my anger and giggle.

Yeah, there are many other people who I can give specific instances about. But instead I'll just list some. No order.

Rachel Riehn. Almost everyone in journalism. Liz Toeller. KT Rosenthal.

There're more. But im tired.

So I'm probably insane.

..but it's okay. All the best people are.
And I don't think this is a new development either.
When I was a small child I was afraid of severed hand I thought lived under my bed. I thought it was going to harvest my organs. When I walk alone I count my steps in a series of four (maybe this is because of marching band). I can spend hours dreaming up random senarios, screenplays, novels, and comics. I actually like McBride, Rubel and Talbot. Yeah, I'm insane. And have you heard the good news? I'm four-for-four on nervous breakdowns Monday-Thursday.

I've also been working on my crazy face.

Probably the best nervous breakdown ever.

So I had a bit of a nervous breakdown this morning. It was not triggered by anything in particular, just the average frustrations of governing the trombone section, partnered with insufficent sleep quality. But it did get a little interesting, because there was a point where I lost the use of my speech entirely, and didn't fully regain it for the rest of the day. So when I wanted something or someone's attention, I made incoherent noises until a) they start paying attention or b) I remember that I can in fact speak english. It was a little like this: 

but I have 2 elbows, not just one awkward one.

(although they are both sufficently awkward)

I hope my section realizes they are slowly killing me. Night, all.

"Ass" is not an adjective, its a noun.

I'm dreadfully sorry if you find the word "ass" to be objectionable, I personally try not to curse, but it would be difficult to write this post without "ass".

It has come to my attention that more and more people have began to use "ass" as an adjective. As in:

• "Hey man, thats a nice ass car!"
• "That's a cool ass bike"
• "That's a good ass sandwich!"

Initially this peeved me quite a bit, however, I have acquired a solution! Whenever someone says something is "nice ass ___" or "cool ass____" or what have you, I simply imagine they are talking about an ass-car, or an ass-bike, or a delicious ass-sandwich. So in a normally objectionable situation, such as

"Hey, John, that's a nice ass car!"
"Hey Dave! You've got a nice ass car yourself!"

I can simply deflate my anger by imagining this alternative situation:

And suddenly it all makes sense.

Why Noone cares what I say.

Dear followers, I think it's time you meet my imaginary friend.
His name is Noone, and he is an aweome 115 year old man with a killer beard and he knows when people are awesome. Noone is around me pretty often, and he really seems to like me. Like when people say:

 He's there in almost any situation where my spirit would normally be crushed.

Which is why I'm still writing this because I think Noone reads my blog.

Goodnight, Noone. <3

Adventure over.

Newport with my Girl Scout troop was AWESOME. really.
We have some of the most unique people in our troop, including parents.
This weekend we had:

(names coincide with picture below)
Me- Accident prone and awkward. And puns. SO MANY PUNS.
Rachel- Has the longest femurs ever. Well, maybe not ever. But they're long. She's also my best friend.
Jasmine- MAKES THE BEST FACES EVER. Really.
Jaqulin- Is a fantastic Jewish Filipino. And she's great. (yes, "Filipino" is spelt right... I checked.)
Katie- Is not weird like the rest of us, but she provides amazing commentary. Also muchies.
Alyssa- Provides hours of entertaining anecdotes, not to mention CANDY.
Maggie Riehn- Has an entrancing english accent. Loves birds, and knows about pretty much everything.
Pam Sheriff- Takes care of us! She's great. Also she is the s'more making champion of the world.
Aaron Keedy (dad)- ex-army officer, retired engineer, unemployed teacher. He has the best stories/jokes
Debbie Keedy (mom)-Kindergarten teacher. Plant enthusiast. Keeps me in line.

In any case, the weekend was pretty much amazing. We kayaked and biked and made s'mores and swam in the beautiful heated swimming pool at our "rural" campsite. My dad told weird funny stories and our troop finally got back to saying grace. But now I have a big painful bruise on the top of my foot and it's all swollen. Oh well.

Adventure?

Yes! Adventure!
My Girl Scout troop is heading out to Newport for the weekend.
(yeah, I'm a girl scout. get over it)
I hardly got any sleep because I'm SO FREAKIN EXCITED :D

OH MY GOD ITS TIME TO GO

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

My breif experience with manual labor.

As you may have guessed, I am not a huge fan of manual labor. Not that I abhor it, but I try to avoid it if I can. Tomorrow I am embarking on a Girl Scout adventure to Newport Beach. Which means my dad and I had to A) get our kayaks out of the barn and B) attach them to the top of his truck. It also meant I had to get out of my PJs on my day off and put on "work clothes" which I was not happy about.

Now this didn't seem to be a particularly hard task, until I opened the doors to the 3rd compartment of the barn, which houses our kayaks, but also crates of other things and random metal rods and sticks and broken glass on the floor. So here I was all alone (my dad was fixing the wheels on the trailer) against this huge mess, thinking of how we were going to get the kayaks down (they are attached to the ceiling by a homemade pulley system).

So I spent the next hour or so unloading all the stuff out of the barn, mostly with my palms because the gloves I was wearing only had 2 covered fingers on each hand. There were also spiders on pretty much everything. Including me. 

After that was done, We lowered the first kayak off the celing, and brought it over to my dad's truck with little trouble. The second kayak, however was not so willing, and knocked over all the stuff I had deemed "safe" to leave in there. So here my dad was, supporting most of the big 'ol kayak, covered in stuff that had recently fallen all over him. And he was a bit mad, but thankfully my dad is not like me and he is VERY used to physical labor, so he was okay just sitting there trying not to get crushed while I figured out the pulley.



After we got everything situated, we put the kayaks on the truck, and dad got out this little peice of rope and put some crazy knot he learned in the army in it and promised me it would work.

I guess we'll find out tomorrow.

Yeah, I don't really listen to rap.

but Saul Williams is a freakin' prophet.

Today we're doing "Penny for a thought"

"to be honest, some freedom of speech makes me nervous;
and you looking for another martyr in the form of a man,
hair like a mane with an outstretched hand
in a roar of hearts, thoughts,
reactionary defensiveness and counter intelligence"

yeah, this guy's got it. Which is probably why everyone is still listening to Ke$sha
and Lady Gaga and 3oh!3

"an emcee told a crowd of hundreds to put their hands in the air
an armed robber stepped to a bank and told everyone to put their hands in the air
a Christian minister gives his benediction while the congregation hold their hands in the air
love the image of the happy Buddha with his hands in the air
hands up and feel confused, define tomorrow;
your belief system ain't louder than my car system"


Maybe I'll be a rapper.

or maybe not.

Today, I relieve my stress.

"Stress?" you say, "you're only 16 years old! you don't know what stress is! pooh pooh!"

Well, I like to think that I do. In fact, I think its arguable that I spend more time at my "work" than most people with an actual job. I am responsible for grades in 7 classes (AP US History, AP Biology, Honors English, Journalism, Pre-Calculus, Jazz Band and Marching Band), all of which have homework or some "extra" thing I am required to do.

Take Marching band for example; I wake up at 5 o'clock, leave my house at 6:20. When I get to school, I set up my instrument, then count the number of people in my section (there should be 5 freshmen, 2 sophomores, a senior, and myself). As section leader, I am expected to ensure that everyone in my section has their music memorized, and plays it with correct dynamics, articulation, and tone. It came to my attention that the majority of my freshmen do not know how to read music, and the majority of my section has extreme difficulty playing. So I spend most of my time teaching them (consider that a private lesson costs a minimum of $20 from an "adult" and I do this for free). After school (2:35- 5+) I am responsible to have my section marching satisfactorily (correct posture, correct horn positioning, correct foot timing, correct technique, correct visuals, etc.) as well as incorporating the musical work from that morning. Yeah, I love marching band. But it is stressful.

Add into the mix the hours of homework I have from my AP/Honors classes, working toward my Gold Award, and worrying about college, and, well, it all adds up. On Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays I am at school from 6:40-5:45. Thats eleven hours a day, not including homework. Wednesdays I am at school eight hours. Fridays seven. Add into that one and a half (average) hours of homework a night, and I have almost a seventy hour workweek. Not including football games on Fridays, and competitions lasting up to 15 hours on Saturdays. And though I do choose to do these activities, and I really do love them, just sometimes I need a little rest.

WHICH IS TODAY! Today is a day off, and sorry teachers who aren't getting payed for today, but I'm really happy about this. As described pictorally here.

Note: I also have 5 followers now!

Things that happened to me today.

I had my heart broken sevral times today.
No not like "I'm so in love!" heart broken.
But like "I think you're awesome and you seem to hate me" heart broken.
Here are some examples:

So as you can see, today was not particularly great. But everything's alright now because they all redeemed themselves. except Mr. Right Foot Pinky. He is pending amputation.



...And then there were 3.

3 followers! This is amazing.
probably the best thing that has ever happened to me*

*besides anything else cool/fun that has happened to me ever.

Update, 9:20am. Talbot is a meanie.

Good morning, World.

Yes, 6:15, time to get up....
OR HEAD OUT TO SCHOOL.
Well, technically I leave at 6:20.
but I'm sure some poor soul leaves at 6:15.

THIS IS BOGUS.

To my one Follower,

I'm sorry you're having a lousy day.
But at least McBride follows you.
Not that I care.  Since we're being honest, I'll probably kill you both when I finally snap.
not really.
because I could never kill anyone.
But I'll give you a dirty look.
No, I won't. Because I like and respect you both.

I'm sorry that boys are smelly and lame.
But let me tell you a story.

Today my mother wanted the computer, but I had (and still have) lots of homework. So I said "NO!" and she was like "well, sheesh" and I was like "NO!" and she started walking away and I was like "WAITTTTTT... okay."
which is why I have no spine.

as described pictorially here.

How I am vs How I wish I was.

This could've made a fantastic Venn Diagram. But I will explain it pictorally.

Just a little insight into my life...

It has come to my attention

that I am my only follower. That's okay, because I like me. I'm a pretty nice person. In fact, I'm honored to have me following my blog. that's all.