"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."



Hello everyone. I am at BB's hizzouse, and this is QUITE THE HAPPENING PARTY. Yes, yes, all four of us, including Betty Jean, who is asleep on the couch. I am drinking Mountain Dew and wearing Tricia's rings, and I love them so I've decided I need to wear more rings but this is a bit of a problem since I wear a size four and a half (I am, as Chelsea says, "teeny tiny", particularly my hands, wrists, and fingers). This is really incoherent and I'm sorry. It's almost one in the morning and I've had two cans of Mountain Dew and I have volleyball at 8 in the morning and I know very well that I'm not going to get eight hours of sleep and therefore I'm not going to remember anything, thankyouverymuch, but I am not taking a test tomorrow.

Smores make me drunk. Long story. Betty Jean almost called Black Beauty "Black Booty", and then we looked at last year's yearbook. Do we have '80s day this year, because, to be honest, it would please me SO GREATLY to wear my mother's old clothing and look completely insane. And to tease my hair, one cannot for get the hair teasing. (I obviously have no shame. Chellie and Maggie and I are already plotting our disco act for Cabaret Night, bwahahahaha. See? Shameless, particularly in the department of hair teasing.)

Really, I wish I had an easier best time than 1-2 in the morning. Seriously, why can't my best time be around nine in the morning? Or after school when I can get my homework done? But, no, I am stuck with two in the morning. I need more rings. BB has the greatest keyboard ever. I have this one chunk of blonde hair and it's really irritating me, particularly because it's right in the darkest portion of my hair. (My hair is like a set of color swatches for any shade of dark blonde, light brown, or red. It's kind of obscene, and I often have to fight the temptation to dye it all one color. But then I get lazy and have really bad roots.)

I'm sorry I'm so spazzy. I neeeed to write, I don't think I have all day except for a small random friends-only rant on my LJ that isn't even worth seeing. I'd really like to apologize to my friends list for that, no one wants to hear about my ghetto blaster quandaries and I need to remember that better sometimes. Actually, all the time. BB has these terrible books about such lovely topics of child murderers and other equally appalling subjects, so Tricia goes, "Where do you get these awful books?!?" and Anna goes, "I got those for free at a rummage sale." Which is going to be my new answer for everything. Oh, freck, I have to see the optometrist tomorrow, which is frustrating because of that eye-air thing they have to do about seven thousand times because I blink. But at least some hot geek-chic glasses will come out of it, right? My dad randomly counted to twenty in German tonight, and I think it was all right. I really want to look at old NDA yearbooks, je ne rigole pas! (I do not joke. Yay for being able to conjugate our -er verbs using the SHOE METHOD! Except that we are all sort of shoe-drawing-retarded.)

Now Tricia and BB are looking at last year's yearbook that I've already looked at about eighty million trillion times. URGH SICK MATH TEACHER HAIR. Anyway. I am on a hair/ring/spasm/Elefun kick tonight. Or, more appropriately, this morning. I don't know if I am even going to bother with sleeping, sorry. Tricia's away message LIES. Anyway, I'm going to go join the yearbook festivities. I hope you enjoyed this highly caffeinated post, je ne rigole pas!


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