Oh my god! I am alive. I didn't know it. I just found out today. I am alive! I AM ALIVE!!
AND!!!!!! TODAY IS MY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!! Boy, was it sweet. I woke up and there were yummily pancakes and a pile o’ pressies on the table. Along with various CD’s, books, and small rodents (I got a pet hamster which is really for Julia as she gets bigger but whatev), I got A CAMERA from l’parents, AN IPOD (blue nano) from l’grandparents, three cookbooks from l’James and Kathy (I think they just want me to cook more for them), and a gift certificate to Urban Outfitters from l’Oregon crew. I let Julia help name the Hamster (even though I wanted to name it Borat or Tequilla or something) and she decided to name it Chumbles. I don’t know what that means, but it’s pretty damn cute. So anywho, I did lots of chilling/playing with l’pressies and the baby and Chumbles in the morning, and then we went to Fire and Ice for lunch and then in the afternoon I read and chilled with Cara and Di and Trina and then they left and Sophie came over for dinner and we got Chinese food and it made me uber-delicious-happy. And now I’m here. Birthdays make me happy. Especially when I’m sixteen. Even though I didn’t get a car. Haha.
I haven't been updating. I know. I forgot that I even had an online journal, let alone an obligation to update it. I've been plagued by school, by Real Life and by projects. I'll explain it all. Like Clarissa. Clarissa Explains It All.
Okay, first and fourmost, school. School is okay. I mean, it always is. Meaning it's the same as always. Always hard. Always painful. Always horrible. You know, whatever?
And, exams weren’t that bad. I actually didn’t fail them all this year. And that’s quite the improvement over last year, lemme tell ya.
There are some teachers. And some grades. They are:
+Science: Ms. Morrea. I actually love her. To bits. I love love loooove her to bits and itty bitty teeny weeny yellow polkadot bikini pieces. She makes chemistry lovable. Looooove able. AND even better somebody named Lillia got an A minus for her term grade.
+History: Monseiur Torrino. Or Mr. Whicheva you prefer. Mr. Torrino is a confusing man, but I can't say I don't enjoy the class. But I do. It's just... a frighteningly disjointed class. And the grade is…… Bee Plus!
+Latin: Magistra Winger. Again! No French this year at least, but that lady is out of her mindo. I’m still… not… doing good in her class. We’ll just leave it at that.
+English: Ms. Stanley. Yup! My eighth grade teacher has moved up to la highschool to teach us again! She's cool, I guess. Gives me freak ass good grades, man. This you'll see later. One example of a freak ass good grade? My term grade was an A!!!
+Mathaliscious: Ms. Ambrose. She's awful. Ugly, mean, hard, and assy. And I got a C. Puh.
Okay. After school importances come what I call "Real Life." This means everything else. Julia growing up. She's such a darling. She strolled on into my room, which still has her crib, but now it's a crib convertable. It kinda was turned into a big girl bed but it's also a crib too. Anyway, she walks on in and says, "Lilla, I wanna a shusi." I'm like what the fuck cutie pie? Turns out she wanted Sushi. She saw me eating it and wanted to try it too! But then she found out that sushi is fish and said something like, “I don’t wanna eat fishies they go swim and are nice aminals and I don’t ever want to eat them because all they do is swimm!” It was fradorable. Aw, shnugar.
Real life also means crap. I'm single! Again! And I'm NOT looking so don't even think about it. I'm happy how I am.
Real life can produce celebrations too. My cousin Gina got married. I got a new dress, new clothes. I loved the wedding. I loved loved loved the wedding. I want to get married.
Real life is a wonderful thing.
And, thirdly, Projects. This means, the musical! We do two musicals a year at moi's school: The Winta Musical, and the Spring Musicull. And so the Winta one is coming up supa soon and it is... dundahdahdah!!!! Into The Woods!!! IT IS SOOOO Freaking Exciting. With Capitals in All the right Places. I'm The Witch. I love how I try out the musicals even when I can't sing for beans or beans. But I get in! And I get to RAP YES! I get to RAP RAP RAP! I'm so excited for this show. I can't even express how excited I am! Wayy more excited than I can express.
Now, as I mentioned before, I got good old grades in English! I still am getting them and I'm loving that class. I love Ms. Stanley. Remember in eighth grade when I wrote that "Short Paper On Any Topic" about crap and like playgrounds and things? Well, she assigns about one of those per week. And so I will here insert my one of my best ones. The exact assignment read: "Please, students, for Thursday, write a short paper on any topic. It must be at least one paragraph and at most three. And give it a creative title that accurately sums of the highlighted themes and undertones reflected in your creation of words, which should also communicate your opinion on the subject."
"The Tambourine And It's Machiavellian Properties: A Coarse Glance At The Combination Of Factors Contributing To It's Demise In The Intermediate Educatory Society"
Composed From The Spirit Of A Once Living Lillia "Burnt Cabbage" Frank
As the sun rises and the sun falls, the characters upon which a shadow is cast often return to the plaster-encased philanthropic aisles that they call their caves. Although legitamate, these archipelagic stunt-doubles often revert to the classic niche of "tambourine-guzzling pitchforks." As a gondolier, this label must be heart-wrenching. And so, naturally, they submit to this nauseating apogee of hatred. But what does this hypocrisy lead to? Why is this stamp so bureaucratic, so demeaning? As the staples are mentored in the demolition, the tambourines distribute their gleeless hysteria among ethical teabaggers, mechanical neurotronic embankments, and yodeling lemurs. Ultimately, such amiability in trendy spyware-filled opium dens can only lead to one culminating final result: a challenge to a battle of swallowing the jingling instruments of music and pain.
The elements milling about in rivierra-esque museums in addition to the lanuginose diatomic plastic products have all supplied tropicality and added suspicion and scandal to the topic, although the fidgety reasons for its eloquent remarks on tambourine fabrication are the following: 1. First, the irresponsible grilling and glowing of fashionable billows, and, 2. second, the sequential herding of blowfish tickers in the emotional downgrades of pillboxes. As the language barrier increases, both sides of the equation remain thus exponential and irregular, as a salmon with a permanent. The moral repercussions of such violent emoting can only produce gregarious and deigning effects. And so they are destined to choke, choke, choke, until the zebras come home.
And so, the crazy wonderful Ms. Stanley gives me an A and says, “Beautiful work, Lillia. You’ve captured the essence of your topic with stunning eloquence and heart-wrenching yet painfully true language. I believe you’ve organized it stunningly and stated your points effectively and concisely. A!”
And then she gives us our next assignment, which is to give a performance of one of the pieces we’ve written. So I decide to do this one. I come in wearing all black a beret and give a crazy dramatic performance and end up lighting candles, kneeling, and I think I managed to shed a few tears. I got an A on that two. So ha.
And I’m happy! That’s all I can really say. I’ve already said a lot, haven’t I? So, I’ll sign off and enjoy of 16ness. G’night.
|comments: Leave a comment|