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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
..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.
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
"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"
"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.
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.
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.