Hopefully we'll get it sorted out.
Although, if I'm right, Inkpop's kind of crappy with these things...
Anyways, guess what? New project up. If you've got time, Lina...*nudge nudge*
Oh, and your name is in it. Not straight-out Lina, but Lina as a nickname (it's mentioned). As in Angelina Hadden-Ferone, the mother who sorta-kinda-maybe-dresses-like-a-slut.
Just sayin'.
By the way, I might be making a short story out of that new Taylor Swift song, "Mine". It's got great imagery.
I'll stop rambling now.
Wait, one last thought:
SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW?!?!?!?!?!?!?
WHAT!?!?!??!
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Showing posts with label AGH.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AGH.. Show all posts
Monday, August 23, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Aghified.
I didn't want Sista Beavah to find out about me messaging Author S M Johnson. Or whatever.
Crappppp...
Or I guess, turrrrrrrrd.
The exact reason I didn't want her to know is because I'm a total freak/infatuated friendwhore when it comes to these things. I feel this adrenaline to stick up for my friends. Whether I've met them or not.
Ahem.
Anyhoo, the past is the past...at the present...agh.
Haircut.
Dunno if I should love it or hate it...
I guess school on Tuesday will let me know.
Which leaves a bigger problem:
WHAT TO WEAR ON THE FIRST DAY.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-PROBLEMS ALL,
BEAVER
Crappppp...
Or I guess, turrrrrrrrd.
The exact reason I didn't want her to know is because I'm a total freak/infatuated friendwhore when it comes to these things. I feel this adrenaline to stick up for my friends. Whether I've met them or not.
Ahem.
Anyhoo, the past is the past...at the present...agh.
Haircut.
Dunno if I should love it or hate it...
I guess school on Tuesday will let me know.
Which leaves a bigger problem:
WHAT TO WEAR ON THE FIRST DAY.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-PROBLEMS ALL,
BEAVER
Giant, mega epiphany.
I was a total jerkface prissy prickwad of baloney in sixth grade.
I'm probably still that way.
Sixth to seventh grade was when I was at the peak of my rudeness. I just reread a whole bunch of my old chats, and one of the ones from when I was in sixth grade basically went like:
Friend: hey!
Me: hi.
Friend: so what's up?
Me: im busy
Friend: oh ok...but can i show you something? plzzz its important
Me: no, im busy
Friend: plzzz?
Me: OH. MI. GOD.
Friend: ...
Me: WHAT THE FREAK DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT AWAY GOD UR SO ANNOYING
Friend: i didnt say anything...................
Me: OH MY GOD IM AWAY STOP BOTHERING ME
Yeah, it's safe to say that that's probably the reason I kind of had a reputation for being a tightass in school.
Although I do hope that I've changed now. "Changed" meaning completely and utterly changed. I don't want to be that girl that has the reputation for being really, really rude.
On another note: FISH BOWL!
Here's the general gist of what happened:
Went
Signed up for clubs
Got free candy from signing up
Decided to sign up for Red Cross for the free Milky Way bar
Decided to sign up for StuCo because it's just amazingly awesome
Decided to sign up for Science Club because...okay, seriously, what the hell was going on in my mind?
Wandered around
Found some friends
Latched onto said friends like superglue
Said friends literally tried to ditch me by walking very fast
Said friends claimed it was a joke
Said friends try this process about five times
Bell rings and we all go to the assigned homeroom
Seniors take roll ("Er...alright, you gotta help me with this one...Wuh..."; "Does it start with W? Because that's me. Just call me Michelle, though.")
Seniors explain about Westwood
Homeroom students play on phones
We go out of our homerooms and attempt to find our way downstairs
I lead everybody to a dead end
I'm booted off the Head Navigator position
We find our way downstairs
Everyone is packed into the gym
Cheerleaders start dancing for a "pep rally"
Boys ogle at cheerleaders' short miniskirts
Girls glare at cheerleaders for capturing boys' attention
Cheerleaders attempt to teach the class body a cheer that basically consists of shaking your butt/hips
Senior class president Rishi announces the "Party is onnnnnnnn!"
Senior class president Rishi starts pelvic-thrusting all the poor fishies
I get pelvic-thrusted
I gag in the corner
Senior class president Rishi takes off his shirt (don't worry, he was wearing two...which does strike me as a little odd)
Senior class president Rishi chases two girls around the gym
Everybody decides to steer clear of senior class president Rishi for the year
I lamely stand here, there, outside, eating, drinking, "dancing"--WHATEVER it is, I perform the action lamely
I mingle
I chatter
I watch boys play ping pong (yeah, they had ping pong tables set up)
I eat strawberries
I dance a little
I curse myself for wearing super skinny jeans
I drink some Sprite
I lose Kolencherry in the crowd, which is bad because I'm giving her a ride home
Found Kolencherry!
We go home
Er, she goes home and I go to my home
...I watch "August Rush" with my mom while trying to imitate the cheerleaders
Alright, maybe that last part wasn't totally related to Fish Bowl, but it was part of my eventful night. Gosh, can't wait for school to actually start, huh?
I'm probably still that way.
Sixth to seventh grade was when I was at the peak of my rudeness. I just reread a whole bunch of my old chats, and one of the ones from when I was in sixth grade basically went like:
Friend: hey!
Me: hi.
Friend: so what's up?
Me: im busy
Friend: oh ok...but can i show you something? plzzz its important
Me: no, im busy
Friend: plzzz?
Me: OH. MI. GOD.
Friend: ...
Me: WHAT THE FREAK DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT AWAY GOD UR SO ANNOYING
Friend: i didnt say anything...................
Me: OH MY GOD IM AWAY STOP BOTHERING ME
Yeah, it's safe to say that that's probably the reason I kind of had a reputation for being a tightass in school.
Although I do hope that I've changed now. "Changed" meaning completely and utterly changed. I don't want to be that girl that has the reputation for being really, really rude.
On another note: FISH BOWL!
Here's the general gist of what happened:
Went
Signed up for clubs
Got free candy from signing up
Decided to sign up for Red Cross for the free Milky Way bar
Decided to sign up for StuCo because it's just amazingly awesome
Decided to sign up for Science Club because...okay, seriously, what the hell was going on in my mind?
Wandered around
Found some friends
Latched onto said friends like superglue
Said friends literally tried to ditch me by walking very fast
Said friends claimed it was a joke
Said friends try this process about five times
Bell rings and we all go to the assigned homeroom
Seniors take roll ("Er...alright, you gotta help me with this one...Wuh..."; "Does it start with W? Because that's me. Just call me Michelle, though.")
Seniors explain about Westwood
Homeroom students play on phones
We go out of our homerooms and attempt to find our way downstairs
I lead everybody to a dead end
I'm booted off the Head Navigator position
We find our way downstairs
Everyone is packed into the gym
Cheerleaders start dancing for a "pep rally"
Boys ogle at cheerleaders' short miniskirts
Girls glare at cheerleaders for capturing boys' attention
Cheerleaders attempt to teach the class body a cheer that basically consists of shaking your butt/hips
Senior class president Rishi announces the "Party is onnnnnnnn!"
Senior class president Rishi starts pelvic-thrusting all the poor fishies
I get pelvic-thrusted
I gag in the corner
Senior class president Rishi takes off his shirt (don't worry, he was wearing two...which does strike me as a little odd)
Senior class president Rishi chases two girls around the gym
Everybody decides to steer clear of senior class president Rishi for the year
I lamely stand here, there, outside, eating, drinking, "dancing"--WHATEVER it is, I perform the action lamely
I mingle
I chatter
I watch boys play ping pong (yeah, they had ping pong tables set up)
I eat strawberries
I dance a little
I curse myself for wearing super skinny jeans
I drink some Sprite
I lose Kolencherry in the crowd, which is bad because I'm giving her a ride home
Found Kolencherry!
We go home
Er, she goes home and I go to my home
...I watch "August Rush" with my mom while trying to imitate the cheerleaders
Alright, maybe that last part wasn't totally related to Fish Bowl, but it was part of my eventful night. Gosh, can't wait for school to actually start, huh?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
What the frack.
How the hell are you so talented?
I love your blog. Love it. The background, however, is a little distracting from your amazing words. I have to move the post around to read it.
Just sayin'.
Does it have to be transluscent?
Anyways, I don't start school until Tuesday. Next Tuesday. But on Thursday I pick up my schedules and stuff, and on Friday it's fish bowl, a.k.a. a big orgy of awkward pimply freshmen.
Wish me luck.
I love your blog. Love it. The background, however, is a little distracting from your amazing words. I have to move the post around to read it.
Just sayin'.
Does it have to be transluscent?
Anyways, I don't start school until Tuesday. Next Tuesday. But on Thursday I pick up my schedules and stuff, and on Friday it's fish bowl, a.k.a. a big orgy of awkward pimply freshmen.
Wish me luck.
I feel lame.
Because I need help.
I need help with witty.
So my description for that blog is still undecided. I can't finish this phrase:
"The ever unholy mind of ____"
Of who? Lina? A dildo? GAH.
Sorry to sound so needy and pathetic.
And you still haven't explained what a Kolencher(r)y is yet!
I need help with witty.
So my description for that blog is still undecided. I can't finish this phrase:
"The ever unholy mind of ____"
Of who? Lina? A dildo? GAH.
Sorry to sound so needy and pathetic.
And you still haven't explained what a Kolencher(r)y is yet!
Monday, August 16, 2010
Where. The hell. Am I going to put a crystal ball?
CHALLENGE ONE
Adventure – Yacht/Boat – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
They named her Bacon.
Who the hell names a boat “Bacon”?
“Darling!” The Steps call to me in unison.
Apparently, unnaturally blonde twins do.
Step #1 continues, “Could you help us with opening the ice chest?”
“Yes,” Step #2 adds. “You know we just went to Ella Nails and we can’t risk another hangnail.”
I peel my eyes away from the awe-inspiring world of water before me and attach it to the new picture: Two bimbo blondes struggling to open an EZPeezy © Ice Chest. I have a feeling that somewhere, my father’s rolling around in his grave right now.
Well, not somewhere. I know exactly where he’s buried—Kensington Cemetery in the dingy abandoned town that I, too, abandoned two months after William Fitzgerald died of a heart attack. He would be buried in San Francisco, in a special place in a special cemetery reserved just for special ol’ him, but Kendra thought he’d like to stay in Novi, Michigan.
“’Ling!” my mom calls out to me from the cabin down below. I hear the clackity-clack of her brand new Prada heels as she makes her way up the steps.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter to myself, ignoring The Steps’ frantic waves of help.
“What?” Kendra asks, approaching me with a paper in her hand. “What’d you say?”
I slump onto the plastic red chair next to me. “Nothing. What’s that?”
Kendra raises her right hand, the one with the paper. “This? Just tickets.” She breaks into a wide smile, one that’s practically screaming, “ASK ME WHAT THE TICKETS ARE FOR!”
I, being a good (albeit lazy) daughter, obey. “What are the tickets for.” I drawl it out so much that it doesn’t even sound like a question.
“Rome!” Kendra squeals. Kendra Hoffen-Fitzgerald-Meyer, who didn’t even giggle hysterically when she met her favorite celebrity at a restaurant in New York, just squealed.
Who is this woman? And where can I find directions to get my mother back?
“Can you believe it, Darling? Ed bought us plane tickets to go see Rome! My dream vacation! This is everything I’ve always wanted and more, you know? Of course you know, I’ve been rambling on about it for ages now.” She looks at me expectantly. Like she’s waiting for me to squeal and giggle with her as well.
God no.
“Kendra, don’t you think you’re being a little…I dunno, childish?” I ask. “You’ve got work to think about, and didn’t you say that your boss is mad at you for writing those op-eds on makeup at the last minute?” I can see why, too; I read them and they were C-R-A-P.
She puts her hand on her hip and gives me a look. “Honestly, Darling, don’t be going on about that ‘Kendra’ stuff now. I’m your mother, and you should respect that.”
“I’ll respect it when you stop screwing random guys and then having their babies,” I snap.
“Darling Charlotte Fitzgerald,” Kendra warns in her Don’t Mess With Me voice. It doesn’t really work to its fullest, though, when you have a name like “Darling”. Kind of ruins the moment of “Darling, you get your butt downstairs!” (a constant Kendra threat) and “I hate you, Darling, I really do!” (a constant 8-year-old cousin threat).
“Ladies!” Ed approaches us, sensing the tension, and hands Kendra a glass of white wine. “Ladies, this is a family vacation, and I want you two to behave. Alright?”
My response is a glare at Kendra, and a brisk march out of the tense arena. Red plastic chair and all.
As I’m heading towards the back of the boat, I smell something strange—and it’s not Step #1’s new perfume or the smell of Step #2’s burning hair as she crimps it.
Adventure – Yacht/Boat – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
They named her Bacon.
Who the hell names a boat “Bacon”?
“Darling!” The Steps call to me in unison.
Apparently, unnaturally blonde twins do.
Step #1 continues, “Could you help us with opening the ice chest?”
“Yes,” Step #2 adds. “You know we just went to Ella Nails and we can’t risk another hangnail.”
I peel my eyes away from the awe-inspiring world of water before me and attach it to the new picture: Two bimbo blondes struggling to open an EZPeezy © Ice Chest. I have a feeling that somewhere, my father’s rolling around in his grave right now.
Well, not somewhere. I know exactly where he’s buried—Kensington Cemetery in the dingy abandoned town that I, too, abandoned two months after William Fitzgerald died of a heart attack. He would be buried in San Francisco, in a special place in a special cemetery reserved just for special ol’ him, but Kendra thought he’d like to stay in Novi, Michigan.
“’Ling!” my mom calls out to me from the cabin down below. I hear the clackity-clack of her brand new Prada heels as she makes her way up the steps.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter to myself, ignoring The Steps’ frantic waves of help.
“What?” Kendra asks, approaching me with a paper in her hand. “What’d you say?”
I slump onto the plastic red chair next to me. “Nothing. What’s that?”
Kendra raises her right hand, the one with the paper. “This? Just tickets.” She breaks into a wide smile, one that’s practically screaming, “ASK ME WHAT THE TICKETS ARE FOR!”
I, being a good (albeit lazy) daughter, obey. “What are the tickets for.” I drawl it out so much that it doesn’t even sound like a question.
“Rome!” Kendra squeals. Kendra Hoffen-Fitzgerald-Meyer, who didn’t even giggle hysterically when she met her favorite celebrity at a restaurant in New York, just squealed.
Who is this woman? And where can I find directions to get my mother back?
“Can you believe it, Darling? Ed bought us plane tickets to go see Rome! My dream vacation! This is everything I’ve always wanted and more, you know? Of course you know, I’ve been rambling on about it for ages now.” She looks at me expectantly. Like she’s waiting for me to squeal and giggle with her as well.
God no.
“Kendra, don’t you think you’re being a little…I dunno, childish?” I ask. “You’ve got work to think about, and didn’t you say that your boss is mad at you for writing those op-eds on makeup at the last minute?” I can see why, too; I read them and they were C-R-A-P.
She puts her hand on her hip and gives me a look. “Honestly, Darling, don’t be going on about that ‘Kendra’ stuff now. I’m your mother, and you should respect that.”
“I’ll respect it when you stop screwing random guys and then having their babies,” I snap.
“Darling Charlotte Fitzgerald,” Kendra warns in her Don’t Mess With Me voice. It doesn’t really work to its fullest, though, when you have a name like “Darling”. Kind of ruins the moment of “Darling, you get your butt downstairs!” (a constant Kendra threat) and “I hate you, Darling, I really do!” (a constant 8-year-old cousin threat).
“Ladies!” Ed approaches us, sensing the tension, and hands Kendra a glass of white wine. “Ladies, this is a family vacation, and I want you two to behave. Alright?”
My response is a glare at Kendra, and a brisk march out of the tense arena. Red plastic chair and all.
As I’m heading towards the back of the boat, I smell something strange—and it’s not Step #1’s new perfume or the smell of Step #2’s burning hair as she crimps it.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
(24) Days of Insomnia
I'm gonna die.
In a moment of sheer stupidity, I decided that I'd write the list options on slips of paper, then mix them up and match them randomly.
You wanna know what I came up with?
CHALLENGE ONE
Adventure – Yacht – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
CHALLENGE TWO
Mystery – Desert Island – Summer Job
Bicycle, porcelain doll, fake flowers
CHALLENGE THREE
Tragedy –Summer School – Zombies
Dim sum, newspaper hat, notebook
CHALLENGE FOUR
Romance – Ice Cream Shoppe – Food
Sea glass, hand mirror, pocket watch
CHALLENGE FIVE
Comedy – Beach – Misusing magic
Sunglasses, banana bread, the color black
CHALLENGE SIX
Bio/Memoir – Shopping Mall – Dieting
Dragons, Aston Martin, barbed wire
CHALLENGE SEVEN
Superhero – Foreign Country – Falling out of Love
Sword, paper lanterns, castle
CHALLENGE EIGHT
Horror – Pool – Losing a Friend
Wings, palm trees, the color bronze
CHALLENGE NINE
Fantasy – Fast food eatery – getting lost
Topiary, lace, glass dome
CHALLENGE TEN
Non Fic – Home – Moving
Milkshake, socks, fingernails
CHALLENGE ELEVEN
Gen Fic – Cave – Sneaking out
Trenchcoat, leather boots, fish tank
CHALLENGE TWELVE
Western, BBQ, over indulgence
Steel, silk, snow
Yay me and my eight days of writing. Nonstop. Every night. 'Til 4 AM. Or later/earlier.
Agh.
In a moment of sheer stupidity, I decided that I'd write the list options on slips of paper, then mix them up and match them randomly.
You wanna know what I came up with?
CHALLENGE ONE
Adventure – Yacht – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
CHALLENGE TWO
Mystery – Desert Island – Summer Job
Bicycle, porcelain doll, fake flowers
CHALLENGE THREE
Tragedy –Summer School – Zombies
Dim sum, newspaper hat, notebook
CHALLENGE FOUR
Romance – Ice Cream Shoppe – Food
Sea glass, hand mirror, pocket watch
CHALLENGE FIVE
Comedy – Beach – Misusing magic
Sunglasses, banana bread, the color black
CHALLENGE SIX
Bio/Memoir – Shopping Mall – Dieting
Dragons, Aston Martin, barbed wire
CHALLENGE SEVEN
Superhero – Foreign Country – Falling out of Love
Sword, paper lanterns, castle
CHALLENGE EIGHT
Horror – Pool – Losing a Friend
Wings, palm trees, the color bronze
CHALLENGE NINE
Fantasy – Fast food eatery – getting lost
Topiary, lace, glass dome
CHALLENGE TEN
Non Fic – Home – Moving
Milkshake, socks, fingernails
CHALLENGE ELEVEN
Gen Fic – Cave – Sneaking out
Trenchcoat, leather boots, fish tank
CHALLENGE TWELVE
Western, BBQ, over indulgence
Steel, silk, snow
Yay me and my eight days of writing. Nonstop. Every night. 'Til 4 AM. Or later/earlier.
Agh.
On the topic of Lady Gaga...
I just got a call from my fish bowl counselor.
Alright, so maybe that's not very on-topic, but it works for me. So ha.
Okay, so fish bowl is this freshmen orientation thing on August 20, and it's basically a meet-and-greet dance. The day before, the 19th, you get your schedules and stuff. Fish Bowl is a term I'm most probably going to use instead of "Freshmen Dance" in Cept.
Thank you, real life, for giving me inspiration.
But anyways, the fish bowl counselors are all seniors who sound very awkward on the phone. Mine, a guy, said "Uh" too many times, and I almost laughed out loud when he mentioned "package". I don't remember why.
I'm pretty sure that while I'm over here making fun of him, he's making fun of my responses.
HIM - And so on August 20th, you'll come to school from six to nine, but please arrive at 5:45...
ME - [thinking] Oh my god, I'm pretty sure this is the only time a 12th grader is gonna call me deliberately to tell me something other than "I hate your guts". What do I say? Do I giggle? Just simple Yes and No's? What?
HIM - ...so that's what's gonna happen.
ME - Um. Crap! I ruined it. What do I say now?
HIM - And on the 19th, you'll--
ME - Okay. Agh! I spoke too late. Or early. Whatever. What now?
HIM - Uh...yeah, and so on the 19th, you can...
ME - What is he saying? Should I even say anything else? Compliment him? What? "Your voice is nice." Right.
HIM - ...and remember, I'm your fish bowl counselor so feel free to ask me any questions at fish bowl.
ME - Crap, he's waiting for me to say something. Um...uh...something cool...I'm a cool person...Alright.
HIM - Um. Yeah. And we'll blah blah blah blah package blah blah blah...
ME - Don't laugh. He just said "package". Nothing funny about that. Nuhhhhhhhhthin' funny at all.
HIM - ...so I'll see you there.
ME - He's waiting again? What am I supposed to say? Alright. I already said that! Brain, think of more creative responses!
HIM - Uh, okay. Thanks.
ME - Thank you! I SAID THAT TOO LOUD. WTF.
HIM - Buh-bye.
ME - [frantically hanging up the phone]
My life, ladies and gentlemen, in a blog post. Please hold the applause for when I run out of amazing posts. Meaning when I die.
*Ba dum CHING*
Sigh.
I'm pathetic.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Alright, so maybe that's not very on-topic, but it works for me. So ha.
Okay, so fish bowl is this freshmen orientation thing on August 20, and it's basically a meet-and-greet dance. The day before, the 19th, you get your schedules and stuff. Fish Bowl is a term I'm most probably going to use instead of "Freshmen Dance" in Cept.
Thank you, real life, for giving me inspiration.
But anyways, the fish bowl counselors are all seniors who sound very awkward on the phone. Mine, a guy, said "Uh" too many times, and I almost laughed out loud when he mentioned "package". I don't remember why.
I'm pretty sure that while I'm over here making fun of him, he's making fun of my responses.
HIM - And so on August 20th, you'll come to school from six to nine, but please arrive at 5:45...
ME - [thinking] Oh my god, I'm pretty sure this is the only time a 12th grader is gonna call me deliberately to tell me something other than "I hate your guts". What do I say? Do I giggle? Just simple Yes and No's? What?
HIM - ...so that's what's gonna happen.
ME - Um. Crap! I ruined it. What do I say now?
HIM - And on the 19th, you'll--
ME - Okay. Agh! I spoke too late. Or early. Whatever. What now?
HIM - Uh...yeah, and so on the 19th, you can...
ME - What is he saying? Should I even say anything else? Compliment him? What? "Your voice is nice." Right.
HIM - ...and remember, I'm your fish bowl counselor so feel free to ask me any questions at fish bowl.
ME - Crap, he's waiting for me to say something. Um...uh...something cool...I'm a cool person...Alright.
HIM - Um. Yeah. And we'll blah blah blah blah package blah blah blah...
ME - Don't laugh. He just said "package". Nothing funny about that. Nuhhhhhhhhthin' funny at all.
HIM - ...so I'll see you there.
ME - He's waiting again? What am I supposed to say? Alright. I already said that! Brain, think of more creative responses!
HIM - Uh, okay. Thanks.
ME - Thank you! I SAID THAT TOO LOUD. WTF.
HIM - Buh-bye.
ME - [frantically hanging up the phone]
My life, ladies and gentlemen, in a blog post. Please hold the applause for when I run out of amazing posts. Meaning when I die.
*Ba dum CHING*
Sigh.
I'm pathetic.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Hello, my name is Wenzhao.
It's on the attendance sheet.
Seriously.
What, you thought you were the only one with a horribly inconvenient legal name? No. Not a chance. I take the cake. At least people THINK they can pronounce. On the first day of school, depending on what kind of teacher it is, the conversation goes a little like the following examples.
Example One: The Quitter
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Wen...Wen...ahem, last name Zhang?
ME - Uh, here. And it's pronounced Wenzhao. Like, um, when-zow. Or when-joww. The proper pronunciation is when-joww, but--
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Two: The Stereotyper
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Uh...alright, you've gotta help me here. Wenadhfjahrewiuljfhnidsd.
CLASS - ...Who the crap is that?...Oh my god, are they some kind of freak from Poland?...I hope they're not anywhere around me...
ME - [sheepishly] Um, yeah, that's me.
TEACHER - That's lovely. Do--you--speak--Eeeeenglish?
ME - ...
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Three: The Rambler
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Oh. Oh, um...
ME - I think that's me...the W name?
TEACHER - Oh, yes! What ethnicity are you?
ME - Uh, um, Chinese.
TEACHER - That's wonderful! My son lives in China. Beijing, in fact. Were you born in China?
ME - Um. Yeah. Beijing.
TEACHER - Lovely! You know, my son's wife is Chinese. She was born in Guangzhou. Beautiful place, though a bit crowded. Of course, they live in Beijing now. He's a landscape photographer, darling occupation. She's...well, she sells purses on the street. Not exactly the best upbringing, but it...
ME - [thinking] "Beautiful place, though a bit crowded"? No duh. I mean, it's China; we spawn babies every Friday. And then get rid of the previously made babies by sending them to orphanages. We're a motherfreaking baby factory. Is she still talking? Oh my god, it's been half an hour. Might as well doodle on my notebook. La di da di da...TURD! She's looking at me. What...what did she say?! Um...uh...uh huh.
TEACHER - I asked where your grandparents reside.
ME - Oh.
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here. Wait, why am I saying "here" over and over for this stupid blog post? Seriously, Michelle, quit it out.
CISCO - I know! Why use me and Kevin anyways? Can't you use, uh, that weird kid in your old gym class!
TRISTAN YANEZ - Hey!
KEVIN - Jesus, I'm sick of the word "here" now. Thanks a lot, third grader.
KEVIN XIE (the creator of my very oh-so-creative nickname, "third grader") - Hehe. He.
Alright, so maybe some of that didn't happen. But it does in my mind.
That just makes me sound schizo.
I'm not.
Just a little.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-OF-SCHOOL-ATTENDANCE ALL,
BEAVER
Seriously.
What, you thought you were the only one with a horribly inconvenient legal name? No. Not a chance. I take the cake. At least people THINK they can pronounce. On the first day of school, depending on what kind of teacher it is, the conversation goes a little like the following examples.
Example One: The Quitter
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Wen...Wen...ahem, last name Zhang?
ME - Uh, here. And it's pronounced Wenzhao. Like, um, when-zow. Or when-joww. The proper pronunciation is when-joww, but--
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Two: The Stereotyper
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Uh...alright, you've gotta help me here. Wenadhfjahrewiuljfhnidsd.
CLASS - ...Who the crap is that?...Oh my god, are they some kind of freak from Poland?...I hope they're not anywhere around me...
ME - [sheepishly] Um, yeah, that's me.
TEACHER - That's lovely. Do--you--speak--Eeeeenglish?
ME - ...
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Three: The Rambler
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Oh. Oh, um...
ME - I think that's me...the W name?
TEACHER - Oh, yes! What ethnicity are you?
ME - Uh, um, Chinese.
TEACHER - That's wonderful! My son lives in China. Beijing, in fact. Were you born in China?
ME - Um. Yeah. Beijing.
TEACHER - Lovely! You know, my son's wife is Chinese. She was born in Guangzhou. Beautiful place, though a bit crowded. Of course, they live in Beijing now. He's a landscape photographer, darling occupation. She's...well, she sells purses on the street. Not exactly the best upbringing, but it...
ME - [thinking] "Beautiful place, though a bit crowded"? No duh. I mean, it's China; we spawn babies every Friday. And then get rid of the previously made babies by sending them to orphanages. We're a motherfreaking baby factory. Is she still talking? Oh my god, it's been half an hour. Might as well doodle on my notebook. La di da di da...TURD! She's looking at me. What...what did she say?! Um...uh...uh huh.
TEACHER - I asked where your grandparents reside.
ME - Oh.
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here. Wait, why am I saying "here" over and over for this stupid blog post? Seriously, Michelle, quit it out.
CISCO - I know! Why use me and Kevin anyways? Can't you use, uh, that weird kid in your old gym class!
TRISTAN YANEZ - Hey!
KEVIN - Jesus, I'm sick of the word "here" now. Thanks a lot, third grader.
KEVIN XIE (the creator of my very oh-so-creative nickname, "third grader") - Hehe. He.
Alright, so maybe some of that didn't happen. But it does in my mind.
That just makes me sound schizo.
I'm not.
Just a little.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-OF-SCHOOL-ATTENDANCE ALL,
BEAVER
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I hate thirteen-year-olds as well.
Honestly, the horrible 13ers give the so-so 13ers a bad image. What with them parading around, smacking their gum, talking Valley Girl style. "Ohmagawd, Emma, isn't this, like, the shat?"
Even though I say "shat". Occasionally. But most of the time, I don't even come close to swearing.
My point is, I'm going with the whole "Don't group people together". It's kind of an ageism stereotype. YOU'RE BEING AGIST, DILDO. Pssssha. (My new favorite non-word: psssssha.)
Anyways, I think that once I turn fourteen it'll be all goooood.
I'm expecting a birthday present from you, Sista.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Even though I say "shat". Occasionally. But most of the time, I don't even come close to swearing.
My point is, I'm going with the whole "Don't group people together". It's kind of an ageism stereotype. YOU'RE BEING AGIST, DILDO. Pssssha. (My new favorite non-word: psssssha.)
Anyways, I think that once I turn fourteen it'll be all goooood.
I'm expecting a birthday present from you, Sista.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Friday, August 13, 2010
WestWEED HIGH school: Notorious for Its Druggies
My school is called Westwood, but everyone calls it Westweed. Because people get drugged up. A lotttt.
Or at least I've heard.
I'm a good girl. I don't get mixed up with that.
Cough cough.
Cough.
Sista Beavah's high school starts on Thursday? Dude, it's like...the beginning of August.
And it starts at 7 AM? F. YOUR. LIFE.
I'm not trying to be rude. *looks around innocently* Just pointing out some things.
But it's okay. You're not the only one with a FML life. For example:
1) I'm a year younger than everybody else, which makes them believe that I skipped a grade, when in reality it's...a really long story.
2) I applied for Newspaper, but didn't get in because their spots were filled. So now I'm in Journalism 1, which sucks because it's basically a crapshot class covering everything I learned in my middle school newspaper class. Also, all of my friends who applied got into Newspaper.
3) Debate is going to be cool, I admit, but now I'm rethinking whether or I should have taken BIM (Business somethings something, a required class) instead. Turd.
4) I'm in Concert Orchestra. AKA the worst one. Because I S to the U to the C to the K at violin. Ugh.
5) Spanish is gonna be hard this year. Or so I've heard.
6) I'm. Taking. The bus. In. The. Morning. Kill me now.
7) Three of my friends from Leadership class last year are most likely not going to be in any of my classes. Two of them are taking AP, and one of them is taking IB with me (but that's not guarantee they'll be in any of my classes).
Agh. I'd like to end on my lucky number.
CHINESE HOMEWORK. I HATE IT. BUT I NEED TO DO IT.
asdilfhaweiuldms <--Evidence of my hatred.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Or at least I've heard.
I'm a good girl. I don't get mixed up with that.
Cough cough.
Cough.
Sista Beavah's high school starts on Thursday? Dude, it's like...the beginning of August.
And it starts at 7 AM? F. YOUR. LIFE.
I'm not trying to be rude. *looks around innocently* Just pointing out some things.
But it's okay. You're not the only one with a FML life. For example:
1) I'm a year younger than everybody else, which makes them believe that I skipped a grade, when in reality it's...a really long story.
2) I applied for Newspaper, but didn't get in because their spots were filled. So now I'm in Journalism 1, which sucks because it's basically a crapshot class covering everything I learned in my middle school newspaper class. Also, all of my friends who applied got into Newspaper.
3) Debate is going to be cool, I admit, but now I'm rethinking whether or I should have taken BIM (Business somethings something, a required class) instead. Turd.
4) I'm in Concert Orchestra. AKA the worst one. Because I S to the U to the C to the K at violin. Ugh.
5) Spanish is gonna be hard this year. Or so I've heard.
6) I'm. Taking. The bus. In. The. Morning. Kill me now.
7) Three of my friends from Leadership class last year are most likely not going to be in any of my classes. Two of them are taking AP, and one of them is taking IB with me (but that's not guarantee they'll be in any of my classes).
Agh. I'd like to end on my lucky number.
CHINESE HOMEWORK. I HATE IT. BUT I NEED TO DO IT.
asdilfhaweiuldms <--Evidence of my hatred.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Oh noes. Dildo's dead again.
Honestly, on most nights you'd be bouncing around and posting all over the place!
But now...
Agh.
I'm pathetic.
I honestly think that if Lina disappeared my life would be horrible. My internet life, that is.
I'M SO DEPENDENT ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB!
My sites feel so lonely without interaction. Sigh.
DAM IT EVERYTHING'S-SO-STUPID ALL,
BEAVER
But now...
Agh.
I'm pathetic.
I honestly think that if Lina disappeared my life would be horrible. My internet life, that is.
I'M SO DEPENDENT ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB!
My sites feel so lonely without interaction. Sigh.
DAM IT EVERYTHING'S-SO-STUPID ALL,
BEAVER
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Fasten your seatbelts...
...It's gonna be a bumpy POST.
Okay, so here's me being all sappy again. Got it?
I'm such a film fanatic and I hate that I'm the only one that way. All my friends regard me as The Wise Movie Watcher, but it's just because I love old movies. The way they talked, the way they dressed, even the way they kissed--opposed to the Attack Eachother with Your Tongues method most teens use today. Also, sex was regarded as a taboo. Even just mentioning "sex" as a word was basically forbidden. I was watching an old movie called Peyton Place and the MCs were talking about relationships. The guy MC was like, "But my mother is so protective of me. I haven't even kissed a girl."
And the girl MC goes, "Would you like to try with me?"
The guy immediately gasps and is basically freaking out that she mentioned kissing and blah blah blah.
But it just goes to show how...how pure the olden days were.
To the point:
You know how I'm all "Gah, my life is boring and I need/want a boyfriend", right? (Hopeless romantic right here, look no further, folks.) Well then I got to thinking--my ideal boyfriend would be a guy who could sit down and watch old-time movies with me. And not snore. Or complain. Or whine about playin CoD instead. But at the same time, it wouldn't be to the verge of (forgive my bluntness) gayness.
You understand what I mean, don't you?
Why, yes, I do realize that I'm being a complete saphead. Do I care? No. Would I love to quit being such a romantic? Yes.
Can I help that?
N. To. The O.
So here's me on a Wednesday, chickenpox and hepatitis shots in my left arm annoying the hell out of me, and I'm sitting at a computer playing out fantasies of my ideal boyfriend.
God, I'm such an idiot.
On to more "important" things, I suppose?
Good.
Here's me making a checklist of what I value in a man/boy/as long as he's got a weewee, I'm good:
INTELLIGENCE - I really value the "smartness" in a guy. Honestly, I'd take a blubbering calculus nerd over a dimwitted football quarterback any day. My friends Linda and Vinci were talking this one day during the school year about "which guy is, like, totally hot". Mind you, I'm not trying to put them down in any way--rather the opposite, I respect their opinions and am trying to make a point out of them. I'm not gonna name names here, but here's how the conversation went as far as I can remember.
L: Okay, you know who I think is hot?
V: Who?
L: Guy #1. Okay, so the other day I was watching him walk down the hall and his shirt was, like, swishing against his stomach and I could see the outline of his body and I'm like, "Oh my god, I want his abs." Like, have you seen them? They're, like, dancer's stomach!
V: Are you serious? Well, okay, you know who I think is hot?
L: Who?!
V: Guy #2. I mean, seriously, if looks were the only factor in liking someone, I'd be completely in love with him.
L: Oh my god, yes. He's probably the hottest guy at school. Seriously.
V: What about Guy #3? He's really hot. Like, really. That's why he's probably the most popular Asian.
L: I know!
Me: Um. Guys. Seriously? You think Guy #3 is hot? He's a little...I dunno. I just...I dunno.
V: You don't think Guy #3 is hot?
Me: ...No.
V: Who do you think is hot?
Me: Um. Uh. Honestly? None of the guys you just mentioned.
L: What? Geesh.
Me: ...
V: Oh my god, Guy #4 is really hot, too.
That's basically the story of my life.
HUMOR - I cannot stand being with a guy that doesn't have a sense of humor. I don't care if it's whacked up or sadistic or whatever, as long as you've got it, I'm good.
I think it's because I'm one of those tightass girls that always answer correctly during class, and I can't stand being with a tightass guy.
(Forgive my cussing. I'm feeling very loose tonight.)
But yeah, if there's a guy that's absolutely hilarious, I'll definitely fall for him. Definitely.
If only, if only...
ROMANTIC AT HEART - Okay. Okay, I admit it. I do want a guy that'll bring me chocolates on Valentine's and roses on my birthday.
Sue me.
But honestly, I just... Ugh. I sound pathetic. And to nobody. Honestly, who's gonna take the time to read all this crap I've posted?
Nobody.
When I go to school, which one of my classmates is gonna look past that rock-hard, edgy tightass Pick Me Pick Me girl and see that I'm actually a hopeless romantic?
Nobody.
Who shares the same odd taste for Audrey Hepburn films, white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, and trying to bother old Michigan friends when they obviously don't want to talk to "that girl that moved a couple years ago...what was her name? Mary? Millicent?"
Nobody.
To quote Emily Dickinson, the great poet herself, I am Nobody. Who are you? Are you Nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us, don't tell! They'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be Somebody. How public, like a frog. To tell your name the livelong day to an admiring bog!
Great. Now I'm reciting poems from memory.
I suppose this is my cue to go to bed. I do hope that Sista Beavah--Lina Briare, yo yo, check it, dawg--arises from the dead.
And now, to quote my favorite movie: "Barbarian yawp! YAWWWWWP!"
DAM IT NOT-SO-MUCH ALL,
BEAVER
Okay, so here's me being all sappy again. Got it?
I'm such a film fanatic and I hate that I'm the only one that way. All my friends regard me as The Wise Movie Watcher, but it's just because I love old movies. The way they talked, the way they dressed, even the way they kissed--opposed to the Attack Eachother with Your Tongues method most teens use today. Also, sex was regarded as a taboo. Even just mentioning "sex" as a word was basically forbidden. I was watching an old movie called Peyton Place and the MCs were talking about relationships. The guy MC was like, "But my mother is so protective of me. I haven't even kissed a girl."
And the girl MC goes, "Would you like to try with me?"
The guy immediately gasps and is basically freaking out that she mentioned kissing and blah blah blah.
But it just goes to show how...how pure the olden days were.
To the point:
You know how I'm all "Gah, my life is boring and I need/want a boyfriend", right? (Hopeless romantic right here, look no further, folks.) Well then I got to thinking--my ideal boyfriend would be a guy who could sit down and watch old-time movies with me. And not snore. Or complain. Or whine about playin CoD instead. But at the same time, it wouldn't be to the verge of (forgive my bluntness) gayness.
You understand what I mean, don't you?
Why, yes, I do realize that I'm being a complete saphead. Do I care? No. Would I love to quit being such a romantic? Yes.
Can I help that?
N. To. The O.
So here's me on a Wednesday, chickenpox and hepatitis shots in my left arm annoying the hell out of me, and I'm sitting at a computer playing out fantasies of my ideal boyfriend.
God, I'm such an idiot.
On to more "important" things, I suppose?
Good.
Here's me making a checklist of what I value in a man/boy/as long as he's got a weewee, I'm good:
INTELLIGENCE - I really value the "smartness" in a guy. Honestly, I'd take a blubbering calculus nerd over a dimwitted football quarterback any day. My friends Linda and Vinci were talking this one day during the school year about "which guy is, like, totally hot". Mind you, I'm not trying to put them down in any way--rather the opposite, I respect their opinions and am trying to make a point out of them. I'm not gonna name names here, but here's how the conversation went as far as I can remember.
L: Okay, you know who I think is hot?
V: Who?
L: Guy #1. Okay, so the other day I was watching him walk down the hall and his shirt was, like, swishing against his stomach and I could see the outline of his body and I'm like, "Oh my god, I want his abs." Like, have you seen them? They're, like, dancer's stomach!
V: Are you serious? Well, okay, you know who I think is hot?
L: Who?!
V: Guy #2. I mean, seriously, if looks were the only factor in liking someone, I'd be completely in love with him.
L: Oh my god, yes. He's probably the hottest guy at school. Seriously.
V: What about Guy #3? He's really hot. Like, really. That's why he's probably the most popular Asian.
L: I know!
Me: Um. Guys. Seriously? You think Guy #3 is hot? He's a little...I dunno. I just...I dunno.
V: You don't think Guy #3 is hot?
Me: ...No.
V: Who do you think is hot?
Me: Um. Uh. Honestly? None of the guys you just mentioned.
L: What? Geesh.
Me: ...
V: Oh my god, Guy #4 is really hot, too.
That's basically the story of my life.
HUMOR - I cannot stand being with a guy that doesn't have a sense of humor. I don't care if it's whacked up or sadistic or whatever, as long as you've got it, I'm good.
I think it's because I'm one of those tightass girls that always answer correctly during class, and I can't stand being with a tightass guy.
(Forgive my cussing. I'm feeling very loose tonight.)
But yeah, if there's a guy that's absolutely hilarious, I'll definitely fall for him. Definitely.
If only, if only...
ROMANTIC AT HEART - Okay. Okay, I admit it. I do want a guy that'll bring me chocolates on Valentine's and roses on my birthday.
Sue me.
But honestly, I just... Ugh. I sound pathetic. And to nobody. Honestly, who's gonna take the time to read all this crap I've posted?
Nobody.
When I go to school, which one of my classmates is gonna look past that rock-hard, edgy tightass Pick Me Pick Me girl and see that I'm actually a hopeless romantic?
Nobody.
Who shares the same odd taste for Audrey Hepburn films, white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, and trying to bother old Michigan friends when they obviously don't want to talk to "that girl that moved a couple years ago...what was her name? Mary? Millicent?"
Nobody.
To quote Emily Dickinson, the great poet herself, I am Nobody. Who are you? Are you Nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us, don't tell! They'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be Somebody. How public, like a frog. To tell your name the livelong day to an admiring bog!
Great. Now I'm reciting poems from memory.
I suppose this is my cue to go to bed. I do hope that Sista Beavah--Lina Briare, yo yo, check it, dawg--arises from the dead.
And now, to quote my favorite movie: "Barbarian yawp! YAWWWWWP!"
DAM IT NOT-SO-MUCH ALL,
BEAVER
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
My sister's ticking me off.
Honestly, she's all "GEROFF THE COMPUTER AND GO WATCH WHATEVER-THE-FREAK-SHOW-I'M-OBSESSED-WITH-RIGHT-NOW WITH ME" and I'm like, "What? What--no, I don't wanna."
Does she listen?
No.
But anyways, the only reason I'm ticked at her bothering me is because I'm watching Nat Tran videos and I hate when I'm on Youtube and somebody (a.k.a. The Evil Sis) randomly bursts into my room going, "Hey." [Silence.]
"Yeah, what?" is my reply.
She shrugs. "Nothing."
Then what the freak did you interrupt me for? "Okay."
She's still standing at the doorway. "Okay."
"Cool." Get out.
"Yup." She's just standing there, smiling as if she's hoping to bust me watching animal porn or something. Why are you still here?!
Finally, I turn back around to the computer and click Play on the Youtube video or whatever. And then it just so happens that Nat Tran decides to cuss at that moment and my sister goes, "OOHHHHH YOU'RE WATCHING A VIDEO WITH CUSS WORDS!" and she'll run out of the room screaming for my mom.
Ugh.
Sorry for dumping this rant on you--I'm just terribly, terribly bored. Inkpop's being shatty and I need some form of entertainment. Which possibly means continuing random stories of mine. I just reread this story I wrote in sixth grade about this girl named Sara White. It's a Snow White parody, and it's called (wait for it) "Appley Ever After".
Yeah. Like Happily Ever After.
But Appley.
Agh.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Does she listen?
No.
But anyways, the only reason I'm ticked at her bothering me is because I'm watching Nat Tran videos and I hate when I'm on Youtube and somebody (a.k.a. The Evil Sis) randomly bursts into my room going, "Hey." [Silence.]
"Yeah, what?" is my reply.
She shrugs. "Nothing."
Then what the freak did you interrupt me for? "Okay."
She's still standing at the doorway. "Okay."
"Cool." Get out.
"Yup." She's just standing there, smiling as if she's hoping to bust me watching animal porn or something. Why are you still here?!
Finally, I turn back around to the computer and click Play on the Youtube video or whatever. And then it just so happens that Nat Tran decides to cuss at that moment and my sister goes, "OOHHHHH YOU'RE WATCHING A VIDEO WITH CUSS WORDS!" and she'll run out of the room screaming for my mom.
Ugh.
Sorry for dumping this rant on you--I'm just terribly, terribly bored. Inkpop's being shatty and I need some form of entertainment. Which possibly means continuing random stories of mine. I just reread this story I wrote in sixth grade about this girl named Sara White. It's a Snow White parody, and it's called (wait for it) "Appley Ever After".
Yeah. Like Happily Ever After.
But Appley.
Agh.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Dude.
Do you know how many followers we have?
Zero.
Seriously.
ZERO.
Okay, whatever, I honestly don't care.
But still. It'd be nice if that little spot down below wasn't blank.
Sigh.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Zero.
Seriously.
ZERO.
Okay, whatever, I honestly don't care.
But still. It'd be nice if that little spot down below wasn't blank.
Sigh.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Just out of curiosity
How many boyfriends have you had/not had, Sista Beavah?
Please don't say 2309430248320948, because then I'll just feel like a doofus.
Sigh.
But I already am.
DAM IT ABSOFREAKINGLUTELY ALL,
BEAVER
Please don't say 2309430248320948, because then I'll just feel like a doofus.
Sigh.
But I already am.
DAM IT ABSOFREAKINGLUTELY ALL,
BEAVER
Monday, August 9, 2010
Smack me if I'm being girly.
I took a walk today with my mom, grampa, and sister. Since they're basically the slowest animals in Earth (and that's counting slugs), I naturaly decided to walk ahead.
It was in that lonely darkness that I realized it. Wouldn't it be romantic to have a boyfriend to walk with you? To talk these dark, if not midnight, walks and we could talk and gab and...
Yeah, I'm being girly.
But hey, this is coming from a girl who's never had a boyfriend, so it's kind of natural.
Sigh.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
It was in that lonely darkness that I realized it. Wouldn't it be romantic to have a boyfriend to walk with you? To talk these dark, if not midnight, walks and we could talk and gab and...
Yeah, I'm being girly.
But hey, this is coming from a girl who's never had a boyfriend, so it's kind of natural.
Sigh.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Ugh. I hate collabs.
I mean, you're either waiting day and night for the other person to finish their part, or you're the one who hasn't finished their part! Which means that:
1) I am super mad that The Fox hasn't completed her part of our collab (that so far only clocks in at around 4000) and
2) I am super late for writing my part of the horror collab I'm writing with LilyJane. Assddffghjkk9183752729<--that's as close to a keyboard smash on iPhone as possible.
What to do, what to do...
1) I am super mad that The Fox hasn't completed her part of our collab (that so far only clocks in at around 4000) and
2) I am super late for writing my part of the horror collab I'm writing with LilyJane. Assddffghjkk9183752729<--that's as close to a keyboard smash on iPhone as possible.
What to do, what to do...
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