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


All I Can Do Is Wait For You

Well, today was a very interesting day. Yes. But I cannot specify further than that; only a few select individuals are "in on it." I feel obliged to supply quotes now. And yet, most of you still won't be in on it! Ha ha ha!

Pencil Case: Madame is like Santa Claus! Seriously, she just goes and pulls the random item of the day out of her filing cabinet!
Madame: What is "like Santa Claus", Pencil Case? (Continues to chastise him for his abuse of the word "like".)
Pencil Case: Madame, why do you hate me so much?!?!?
Me: She's trying to make you sound more intelligent.
Madame, laughing: (points at me) She's smart.

It was very flattering. So, then, for some reason, I decided to let everyone know that I have no sense of direction, if they didn't know that already.

Me: I don't have much of a sense of direction, Madame. No, really, remember during Orientation, when you had to help me find Adult Hermione's room?
Madame, laughing again: Yeah!

Then we talked about the ever-changing lexicon of American slang and why there is no French word for "bling." Yes, general hilarity. I was a bit upset with our ICP tests. Mostly because I did not get to write my essay about Mendeleev. Yes, that sounds wonky, but I had the best ending line ever for my essay. ("As my mother likes to say, 'That Dimitri Mendeleev, he was a cool guy!' Please note that my mother also refers to James Chadwick as 'my buddy Jimmy'.") Then I decided to put that I was upset that I didn't get to write my Mendeleev essay under my essay in parentheses, because I have random spastic needs to let all my authority figures know that my mom is crazy.

I made Betty Jean, Chelsea, and Pencil Case beautiful locker signs last night. I mean, these were truly gorgeous. I also made one for Angie, because it's great, even though she is not an NDA-er yet. She better hang it up somewhere, though, because it is fabulous. (Although I will have to make her a new one when she comes to NDA, because the one I have now might be obsolete by then.) Yeah, I am a weird kid. What kind of a kid sits around making locker signs for her nearest and dearest because she can't sleep? Yeah. That would be me. But everyone loved theirs, and they rightly should!


Get Over Yourself, Goodbye!

Oh, Madame. You are so funny, continuing to antagonize Pencil Case and I about our "relationship." I am not being sarcastic, I actually find this pretty funny. But not half as funny as wasting vocab-time looking at old picures from your childhood. Here are some dialogue highlights of that whole incident.

Pencil Case: Oooooh, were these taken in Russia? Because you all have those Russia hats on.
Madame: Russia hats?
Pencil Case: Yes, Madame, Russia hats.

Madame: I bet you can't guess which one I am.
(Chels sarcastically points to this little girl who is laughing evilly. We all crack up.)
Madame, later: Yeah, actually, that was me.
(We all laugh even harder.)

Madame: That stupid bow!

Madame: ...well, because I was very... like Kellie.

Madame, pointing to someone with very bad 80s hair: Wow, look at that baby!

Lots of fun; general hilarity abounded as usual. I also feel obliged to add that the whole of NDA either thinks Pencil Case and I are going out, or thinks that Pencil Case and I should go out, and that I really don't know what to make of this.

Sometimes, during French class, Pencil Case has random spasms, somewhere along the lines of, "MADAME! LET'S GO READ KELLIE'S BLOG!" It's pretty funny.

Anyway, I can't believe I didn't mention this from shopping yesterday. "I HATE BADLY-STOCKED MAKEUP AISLES!" Okay, Angie. Angie is so adorable, even with her Prince eyeliner and vampy Appollonia lip gloss.


"And, Josh? You really are very sweet sometimes."

This is in Pencil Case's AIM profile. It's very sweet:

madame is the best french class teacher...
ok...here it goes...
madame, you are the best teacher at nda and you should never eat anything i bring to class...EVER! i am sorry i thougt your native language was french but russian is just as good....well not really...french is the best language...but that is beside the point. if i ever made you mad...well let's just say...for all the times i made you mad, i don't regret it...wait...yes i do!! hehe. -pencil case

Yes. I am not cleaning up any of the grammar or punctuation, that is exactly what it says.

So, today has been a good day. I went shopping with Angie at B&N and we had fun and giggled a lot, mainly at our silly vatis. (Papa Paddy on the Goth couple making out: "Get a house! :::LOUD SNORT::") I bought Martinis and Bikinis by Sam Phillips, which is really good, and she bought Destination: Beautiful by Mae, which has a really mismatched album cover. The cover looks like it's from an Enya CD or something, but apparently the music is not relaxing. This baffled me like a squirrel baffle baffles a squirrel! There was also the godforsaken Victoria's Secret trip, which I am trying to block out. But it involved a lot of me saying "Jesus tapdancing Christ" a la Pencil Case and my first sip of caffeine in over a week. Very stressful, as you can see. I am very much liking this CD, although I am only seven songs into it. It is not something I would usually choose to listen to, but I enjoy it immensely. So, that's about it, my day thus far, except for obscene amounts of Introduction to Chemistry and Physics studying and making up stupid patterns to remember these dead white men and what they discovered about atoms.


Way Too Much Fun

Best Instant Message discussions ever tonight, for reals.

Chels: ooo i want a story about ronnie deutch
Moi: HAHA!!
Chels: you know the "i can lower your IRS tax bills for only 20 dollars. TWENTY DOLLARS!!"
Moi: HAHAHA!! Yes!!
Moi: she makes me so angry!
Chels: she makes me WANT to have IRS tax bills!!!!
Moi: she's hysterical!!
Moi: this is so going in my blog.

Van Chelsing, you are my spoof-romance-novel-writing HERO.

Nuts and Bolts: An Epic

So, I promised Pencil Case I would tell this story. Basically, one of the few benefits of using AOL is that you have lots of buddy icons and sounds to choose from. Well, I changed mine, and he demanded that I change it back, which took me about ten minutes because I forgot what I had before. It was quite the saga, and of course he demanded that I post about it.

Hey, somehow I have managed not to bust out my Home for the Holidays DVD yet this weekend. I think perhaps I might have had a good-dysfunctional Thanksgiving instead of a bad-dysfunctional one. This is probably because I was dealing with my mother's side of the family, and the annoying members of her family tend to be: a) old and b) incapable of driving after dark, so they left about three hours after the festivities began, leaving the rest of us to pig out on leftover-seconds for several hours more. Plus, they are all deaf and tend to heap together during discussion time, so we can just sit and watch VH1 and quietly mock them. (They were talking about shoes, but not in a good way. In a "Jean, you need new shoes." "I know, I have to go to Shoe Carnival this week." way.)

Hey, Van Chelsing, do you remember our discussion about the Boxcar Children? Well, my aunt is production manager on a play version of the first book. It is very cool. She got to cast the parts and all that jazz. Then she told me that I remind her of the oldest brother, basically because I am a charismatic nerd. Yeah. I'm so loved.

Anyway, somehow the History Channel gave my mom the giggles for half an hour straight at about 7:30 this morning. Yeah, because prostitutes in Siberia--- no joke, that's what was on the History Channel this morning, and we had to watch, because I oh-so-innocently asked about our ancestors who hailed from Siberia, and then they're all, "Hey! Let's watch the History Channel and learn about drug trafficking in foreign lands! And space stations! Until the moment we all pile into the car!"--- anyway, prostitutes somehow reminded her that she was outside playing with her siblings in the snow after a blizzard as a child. Brenda had a very thick snowsuit on, so thick that she couldn't move, so Brian pushed her into a snowbank and walked away. And this memory, somehow brought on by the History Channel, got her laughing for half an hour. Loudly. That was probably the low point of my Thanksgiving, breakfast with the History Channel. Although it was still fairly hilarious because the narrator would say something terribly dramatic, and there would La Mere be, tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard. (She had a few drinks the night before.)

I ate three bagels again today, what is wrong with me?


"Maybe It's On Backwards."

Okay, Grandma Jackie has a knockoff Britta machine, and the lid is really, really wonky and it, as she says, "doesn't fit." So then Das Vater facetiously suggests that the lid is on backwards, and of course it is.

La Mere: We have lots of September birthdays. September 4th, September 6th, September 8th.
Grandma: Yeah, and November 7th. (No one says anything further; Brenda and I crack up.)

Wow, this is the holidays for me. Knock-off Britta machines, Franz Ferdinand videos, and watching too much TLC. And various news channels. Seriously, I watched about three hours of CNN and CNBC today for no good reason. Usually I turn on CNN for ten minutes for the little blurbs when I can't find the newspaper (read: because Das Vater has already recycled it), but three hours, plus some CNBC special on... somewhere. Oh, lots of history-geek reading, too, and various other things that could represent why I should not be allowed to participate in holiday festivities without caffeine. [i.e., eating three bagels in an hour and, when someone asks me why, stating that it's because the Jews brought bagels over to New York. That didn't even make sense to me. Seriously, I don't eat three pizzas in an hour just because the Italians brought it over, largely because I hate pizza, but I digress. Caffeinelessness makes me rather stupid at times.]

Tonight was actually really hilarious, but if I were to explain it to any of you, it would really not sound very funny. "The onions look like eyes. I decided to hold that observation back until everyone was done eating." and "If you break it, you die." won't be very entertaining to people who weren't at dinner tonight.

Entirely Bored

So, here is what I've done today:

1. Went shopping and got angry at scarves with colors that fail to coordinate with my wardrobe. Then I realized that my affinity for scarves and handbags and shoes is getting to be a bit much.
2. Ate way too much.
3. Organized beads.

And now I'm sitting around, typing and watching music videos. The Style Network is on the telly, but I am paying very little attention. Yeah, my life isn't boring at all. The Style Network would like you to know this: "If you can ponytail, you can Topsy Tail!" That's always a good fact to know. I'm off to continue to abuse Launch Music Videos.


Slipping Tongue

Happy Thanksgiving everybody. I'm here on my uncle's laptop listening to dirty discussions (that would be the title, which I am afraid to explain) at the mouths of my crazy family. It's pretty fun, today was actually not too stressful. I sat at the dinner with Shannon, Brenda, Dave, Nico, and my brother, and we talked about the natural colors of food, which was pretty funny. ("Blueberries are blue!" "Actually, blueberries are more purple." Later: "Oranges are orange." "Actually, they're more yellow.")

Okay, I have stories. First of all, this family is obsessed with blue Solo cups with the grips. I mean, you would think these things were designed by MIT rocket scientists the way Das Vater and Brian are talking about them.

Then Brenda and Shannon and I took the digital camera trying to find a place with a subtle background to take a picture of Shannon for her job. So, the only place we can find is the bathroom, so Shannon gets all set up and Nico walks in and has to go to the bathroom. So then we look away politely, and, when he finishes, he says, "Mommy, I need to wash my thumb because it has butt smell on it." Shannon and I found this hilarious, so we cracked up. Then, after we'd re-set up the picture and we were almost ready to shoot, I said, "Hey, Shannon, say 'butt smell'!" and so she cracked up and goes, "This is great, because I'll be looking at this picture and just crack up, thinking it's the Butt Smell Picture!" Yeah, we're so mature.

Anyway, La Mere is mixing drinks and Brian is playing with some old-fashioned childrens' toy, which is part of a very complex equation that means it's time to wrap this up.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everybody.

Oh, good golly gosh. I think I forgot to pack my Home for the Holidays DVD. I think I might need that more than I need a hairbrush.


'Ew. I'm barfing on the inside.' -Van Chelsing

Oh, my life is crazy humorous. I decided to go the French room a bit early this morning and hang out with Madame, Pencil Case, Chels, and Maggie, which was entertaining and of course led to discussions about my blog.

Madame: No, Kellie's a very good writer. You know that show, it used to be on HBO but now it's on TBS--
Me: Oh, Sex and the City?
Madame: Well, I can just picture Kellie sitting at her computer, writing like I think her name is Carrie Bradshaw. Except hopefully about better topics.

Madame was also highly entertained that Chels and I call Fr. Gilsdorf "Poppa G."

Then we had class, which meant more Thanksgiving vocabulary. We read sentences from what we wrote yesterday (I chose "I hate giblets" and then was told that you don't actually eat giblets. Me: "I still hate them.") Pencil Case screwed up twice, and then he finally managed to make a mildly coherent sentence, but first he discussed with himself.

Madame: Pencil Case, you're having a conversation with yourself; just answer the question.
Pencil Case: I eat cranberries, spice, and mashed potatoes.
Madame: I just got this visual of you chewing on a cinnamon stick.

Pencil Case: How do you say "whatever" in French?
Me: My grandma says "whatever"!
(Abigail and Natalie crack up.)

We then watched more Finding Nemo.

Madame: The moral of this movie is that if you don't listen to your parents, you almost die.

Then we had church. Church is not usually entertaining, but I sat next to Chels, and Pencil Case was across the aisle from me, so we spiced things up a bit. At the sign of peace, Pencil Case goes to shake Madame's hand, since she was a few rows down, also in an aisle seat. So then she came up and shook hands with me and Chelsea, and told us how cute we are. Then I went over to chat with Pencil Case for a few seconds, and Madame makes these little gestures with her fingers and mouths, "Are you two going out?"

On the way out, I decided it was my duty to set this all straight. Which didn't work.

Me: We are not going out, and we're never going out!
Madame: Oh, sure.
Me: That would be so stressful for me! I would need so much coffee, I'd die of a caffeine overdose.
Pencil Case: It would be stressful for me, too!
Me: I'd lose it!
Pencil Case: Me too!
Madame: We'll get back to this conversation in two years.

I'm not so sure I have anything else to say.



Ma mere is extremely stupid. Or she just has the memory of a goldfish. I'm sure those of you who know me are expecting me to launch into a flaky-mere story, but I actually am not. I am launching into a giblets story.

Which is sadly not exactly what it sounds like. We do not believe in giblets in our house, evidently.

Giblets, Part One

Me, making flash cards because I'm nerdy like that: Hey, did I tell you that we know the word for giblets in French?
Mere: What word is that?
Me: Les abats!
Mere: And why did you learn that?
Me: Well, since this week is completely pointless, we are learning Thanksgiving vocabulary. And when she handed the sheet out, Pencil Case immediately goes, "EWWW! Giblets!" so she made us learn the word for giblets.
Mere: Oh.
Me: Seriously, who eats giblets? I am just wondering.
Mere: I don't know. I'll ask Amy tonight.

(For those of you who are not familiar with the structure of my family, Amy is one of my mom's best friends and they go on walks just about every night because they are weight-loss dorks, not that either of them really needs to lose very much weight.)

Giblets, Part Two

Me: Mere? Are you going to remember to ask Amy?
Mere: Yes, I am.
Me: Do I need to write "giblets" on your hand so that you remember?
Mere: Giblets or gimlets?
Me: Mother.
Mere: Well, I was going to say, I know Amy likes gimlets...
Me: You promise you'll remember?
Mere: Yes. I promise.

Giblets, Part Three

La Mere walks in from her walk with Amy. (What kind of crazy people walk in 42-degree weather late at night when there could be raincoat men out to rape them? I don't know. Evidently La Mere and Amy.)

Me: Did you ask Amy about giblets?
Mere: No. I forgot.

And that is my animal-innard story for today.

Apples to Apples

Pencil Case brought Madame an apple today. She wouldn't take it (hmmm... I wonder why...), so Pencil Case has this random spasm, takes a bite out of it, spits the bite out, and throws the rest in the trash. It involed hilarity and apple saliva all at the same time. Then Madame makes a great face at him for about a minute and says, "Oh, and, Pencil Case, could you have brought a smaller apple?"

So then Pencil Case made Madame look at my blog again, and, of course the first thing she sees is "TAKE A CHANCE YOU STUPID HO!" Awww, lovely. But, anyway, the blog is on her favorites list, which kind of weirded me out because Pencil Case and Maggie told me it was but I refused to believe them. Then Pencil Case was late for theology with The Frater and Chels and I were late for English with Poppa G, so we asked for passes.

Pencil Case: Oh, I need a pass for theology now.
Madame: Hmmm, I don't know. With who?
Pencil Case: The Frater.
Madame: Okay. The Frater likes me. (hands Pencil Case his pass, he dashes off in his hilarious flailing way)
Me: We need passes for English, too, please.
Madame: With who?
Chelsea: Poppa G.
Madame: Oh, you guys better run for the Gilsdorf. He's a very serious man.

As you can see, general hilarity as usual. When we got to English, Poppa G asked if he was supposed to give the tardies to Madame, so Chelsea and I were fiercely confuzzled.

During theology I drew a smiley face on the tip of Lil' J's nose. Because she told me to. It was pretty cute, but, unfortunately, I used pink highlighter, so it only showed up from certain angles, which was a bit upsetting.

I dropped by auditions for about an hour last night to show some moral support for my little peeps. So many people did such a nice job, but I sadly did not get to see Chels, Maggie, Duct Tape, or Pencil Case audition. But I did see Vicky, who did an incredible job, and lots of great upperclassmen. But good luck to all my little peeps who auditioned last night, and those of you who are auditioning tonight!



I am sadly addicted to "What You Waiting For?" by Gwen Stefani. I'm trying really hard not to, and I have not succumbed to buying it off iTunes, but running around the house shouting, "TAKE A CHANCE YOU STUPID HO!" is really fun. Oh, never mind, I just succumbed. Anyway, I did not need a damn quiz to tell me THIS:

You Are a Snarky Blogger!

You've got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of.
And that's why they read your posts as often as they can!

So, yeah, I'm going to randomly loiter around musical auditions tonight, making a nuisance of myself and doing a horrid job of calming everyone's nerves. It shall be fun. And if not, I will make it fun. I'm talented that way. (Not really. Okay. Moving on.)

I had so many hilarious AIM discussions tonight. Seriously, though, Pencil Case telling me, "Your font has moxy!"? Chelsea said this about Adult Hermione about five minutes ago: "She's just like, 'lithiums atoms blahblahblah and you should all try out for the musical!'" Have I mentioned recently that Chelsea is Adorable? Because it's true.


Anyway, I gave Pencil Case a stern talking-to during gym about his verbal harassment issues, and I told him basically the same thing I said here. Then Mr. N said, "You better not harass her, or I'll kick your ass." I had a lovely mental picture of Pencil Case's ass being kicked by Mr. N... haha, only half-kidding.

Now that that is out of the way, I'm going to tell you another Pencil Case story because he demands it, as usual. We had to write essays about each other's families in French, and he had to write about Chels', and he just picked random adjectives for all her family members and said that Chelsea's grandmother is "sticky". (This was on the same day he was told to get a drink.)

I now feel compelled to talk about my cuticles and their spastic bleeding. I must stop biting/ripping my cuticles. It is very bad and, in combination with the dryness of my skin, causes them to fall apart and bleed profusely at random points in my day. Then I have to go to the admissions office for a Band-Aid, which is also not very fun. I mean, it's not horrible or something I dread, it's just rather tedious. And, in a roundabout way, self-inflicted.

Have I mentioned yet that the Periodicals room smells like pumpkin seeds? That was quite an interesting observation of mine, and I just wanted to share it.

Oy Vey.

Pencil Case, you need need to stop harassing/telling her you're going to bring her an apple with a razor blade/verbally abusing Madame. Because someday she's going to kick your ass, and you know that she's going to win.


Adult Hermione: Maybe some people haven't been to Chuck-E-Cheese. Maybe they don't live somewhere where there is a Chuck-E-Cheese.
Bet: Yeah, maybe they live on Mars!!

Pencil Case: Turkeys do have genders, how do you think we get baby turkeys?


Quizzes are hilarious.

You are 67% Aquarius

You Are From the Sun

Of all your friends, you're the shining star.
You're dramatic - loving attention and the spotlight.
You're a totally entertainer and the life of the party.
Watch out! The Sun can be stubborn, demanding, and flirty.
Overall, you're a great leader and great friend. The very best!

Well, sometimes I guess this qualifies, depending on my mood, by which I mean my hormones.

You Are the Reformer


You're a responsible person - with a clear sense of right and wrong.

High standards are important to you, and you do everything to meet them.

You are your own worst critic, feeling ashamed if you're not perfect.

You have the highest integrity, and people expect you to be fair.

That really only qualifies about 20% of the time (although I am always my worst critic.) I guess now is part of that 20%. Or that quizzes are just rigged. Who knows?

Fall Fest

Yes, so Fall Fest was fairly entertaining overall. Nothing really notable happened, except for me sarcastically shouting at Bet "YOU'RE A WHORE!!" by the water fountains as my actual big buddy walked past. Oh, and Lil' J "proposed" to me by the doors of the choir room and Mr. Brooker walked by... that was greatly hysterical. "Damn. Now we have to move to Massachusetts." Then Bet called Paul "silly". It was mainly the little things that made tonight so great, like Chels needing me to buckle her shoes and the Cha-Cha Slide, because overall it was somewhat boring. Plus, Pencil Case did come and it was rather exciting, especially when he nearly ripped my face off doing The Mime with Chels.

Afterward, we slept over at Di's house and mainly we ate. Lots of food. Her mom made us delicious pancakes for breakfast this morning, and then they had a feast of junk food set up on the table when we got there. It was incredibly nice. My parents, I know, would have made us forage for berries or something. Then Harley, Di's dog, was attacking BB, which Diana thinks was because BB was "making playful motions." Diana also does not think her cat is fat (it's not fat, she's right, it's morbidly obese.) Again, it was highly entertaining, and now I'm here trying to figure out how not to fail my next math quiz and being sniffed to death by ma chienne.

Emily, Maggie's sister: Have you guys seen Maggie?
Me, only half-kidding: Yeah, I think she was off hunting for boys.
Emily, laughing: Well, thank you for being honest.


Silica Gel.

So, I finally found the little packet of silica gel in a purse I bought about a year ago. This is exactly what it says on the packet, word for word, exclamation point for exclamation point:


I found that terribly hilarious. But not as hilarious as when I was instant messaging with Pencil Case a few minutes ago, and he sent me the puckering smiley-face and said, "This is you in twenty years. Yellow and seductive. And bald."


I Love Coherent Thoughts.

Here is an away message I just read:

Michele has a bo! Yay! Congadulations!

Okay, scaryosity. Seriously. That is just wrong on so many levels. Not that Michele has a "bo", whatever the hell that is, but that she's being "congadulated" for it. I swear, it would kill 75% of teenage America to form a coherent written verbal thought. And I'm not even going to get into my whole rant about this, you know there is one, and so I can now go to bed.

Oh, speaking of people who have issues forming coherent verbal thoughts, here are some terrible things Das Vater said to me tonight:
Me, to La Mere: Hey, Madre?
Das Vater: Hey, daudre?
Me: That is not the Spanish word for daughter.
Das Vater: Okay, then, what is?
Me: I don't know, I don't take Spanish; what's the German word for daughter?
Das Vater, sarcastically and not verbally abusively: Shithead.

I was appalled. I was speechless for minutes, and I am never speechless, ever.

Hey, today, no one said they had a dream about me last night, so I am no longer in a permanent state of weirded-out. I'm seriously going to bed now.

I Miss Paris.

That sounds ridiculously pretentious, I know, but I realized tonight that I miss Paris, and since it's late and I am drinking (NOT CAFFEINATED) raspberry tea that I let steep for way too long, I am going to tell you about my last Paris trip, which was, sadly enough, five years ago. It involved me, CoolAunt, Joan (CoolAunt's friend from medical school), and Katharine (Joan's daughter). Also, for a while, Angie and her family accompanied us, but then they traversed on to Amsterdam or something. That is where I am going to pick up. As they were leaving, we were saying our goodbyes on the Rue Clare, and Fio fell on her butt. Then Joan told Fio to get some Neosporin for her butt, which made me laugh for a very long time because I was only in the fourth grade, here. But it still makes me laugh now, so that is no excuse.

I shouldn't be posting this late at night. I should be sleeping. I have dance in the morning. But instead I feel compelled to tell you tales of France, and so I am going to, and if these are not enjoyed by my readers... well, I will eat them. Or something.

Anyway, our next tale is entitled Two Hundred and Fifty-Dollar Gucci Prescription Sunglasses, which is exactly what Joan left under a bench on the Champs-Elysee. Then we had to go buy new ones, which were probably more expensive, considering that I don't recall Joan being very good at converting francs into dollars. (See, that is how long ago this trip was, we were using francs and not euros.)

Now we will talk about Easter at Notre Dame Sort-of, which is exactly what our Easter was. See, we went to Notre Dame, but it was raining, and of course there was a line. You think CoolAunt would have known there would be a line, but nooooo, apparently not, so we had to subtly stand under the umbrellas of nice Asian tourists until they realized what we were doing. Then we got into the church, and we had to sit on the floor in this outside-hallway thing (if you have been there, you know what I am talking about). I believe they were broadcasting the mass on TVs in this little hallway thing, and I can't remember, because do you think I was watching this mass? No. I was sitting on the floor with Angie and Katharine, who was eating peanut M&M's, while Joan and CoolAunt plotted where we could go next. Eventually, we left and walked all the way back to the Rue Clare, on which there is this cute little fried chicken place. So we ate there, although, personally, I was crabby and wet and did not find it very appetizing. But it was seriously my best Easter ever.

This ties in well with another story that involves me being crabby and wet and malnourished. This one is called Fio Steals My Ugly, Hideous, Ripped, Yellow Rain Poncho at Sacre-Couer. Which is exactly what it sounds like. She really liked that poncho, I think, poor kid.

Now we are going to discuss Spies. This is when Katharine, Angie, and I spied on people in the apartment building across the street from our hotel room and drew pictures of them. It was insanely fun.

Next, we shall move on to Butter, Not Beer. In this lovely vignette, CoolAunt orders my pasta with beer instead of butter on our last night on the Rue Clare. Luckily, our waiter realized that her French is fairly bad when it comes to certain words (i.e., counting, and butter vs. beer) and asked if she really meant butter. He was a nice waiter.

This might be the best Paris story I have. It is called Thomas the Water Snake. At this little shop a few streets over, Katharine bought a "water snake" and named it Thomas. Then we went home, by which I mean our hotel room, and Katharine continually squeezed it and it popped all over the comforter. We were ashamed to go to the front desk and look like rude, stupid Americans, all "we popped a water snake on our comforter", so we draped it over our bathroom door. But, if you have ever seen a French hotel bathroom, you know that this comforter, the half of it that was hanging over that side of the door, took up most of the bathroom. Anyway, Katharine was generally unbearable until she bought Thomas II a few days later, and during her time of unbearability, she insisted we play Foxtail every waking moment. It was rather tiring.

Even though I have many more lovely tales of France, I am going to leave you all with Elevator. CoolAunt would not let Katharine and I use the elevator, because she said we did not have to be "lazy Americans" and we would use the stairs. So, whenever we would return to the hotel, CoolAunt and Joan would chat up the man at the desk (in very bad French, often asking for the wrong room number keys), and Katharine and I would run up the stairs. We would catch the elevator, which was made of glass, at the second floor, and ride it to the fourth floor. This sounds very stupid, but we thought we were being rebellious, especially the time Joan and CoolAunt would have seen us if they had only looked up a bit more, because they were walking up the steps only a few feet away. It was hilarious. And those stories partially explain my unnatural attachment to Paris.

Mad Face, and Mr. Demanding.

Well, since Pencil Case is Mr. Demanding tonight, I am posting the mad face picture, and I'd like you all to know that he chucked a basketball at my face during gym class and I, um, forgot to duck. Or something. He also thinks I have given you all the impression that he is "a retard silly man", which made me laugh out loud. Anyway, drumroll please, MAD FACE!!:

Pretty Good for a Bad Day.

Okay, I need help in math. I'm just going to admit this, flat-out, after failing two quizzes in a row. Also, I better have done as well on my ICP quiz as I thought I did because... I need it. Badly. So badly I could scream.

[Pencil Case can't get the filing cabinet open.]
Madame: How many freshmen does it take to open a filing cabinet? (She walks over and opens it immediately.)

Anyway. Pencil Case is a horrible boy. This is what he says happened before I was in French today: "Well, I was just talking to Madame about yesterday, and I was like, 'Yeah, I read about it on the internet.' And she goes, 'Oh, what's the website?' And I gave her the link." (Me: "You couldn't have said 'I forgot'?" Pencil Case: "No! She would know I was lying, she has, like, a built-in lie detector!")

So, I walk into the room this morning, and Madame randomly goes, "You're funny." on her way out of the room. Pencil Case explains that she is reading my blog. I flip out, because she is reading:
1. bad words I say all the time
2. bad things I say all the time
3. about my enmity for the holidays
4. about my extended family.

But she also told me I was a good writer. Later, in gym, Pencil Case tried to insist that she was only reading the things about him and about herself, and that she's never going to read it again. Then he told me that she kept talking about how funny I make her sound (she's extremely hilarious, really) and how funny I am and how she was laughing the whole time... and I'm guess I'm not as weirded out by the idea of a teacher reading my blog anymore. It's weird, yes, but people I don't know reading my blog is weird, too, and people I know too well reading my blog even gets a bit awkward.

Seriously, I do not let my mother read anything I write, nor do I let my father. In middle school, when we had to make a showcase portfolio in English, it was painful for me to watch them read my papers. And these were papers I never had below an A- on, but it was still so weird, and I haven't been able to pinpoint why. I mean, they've never said anything bad about my writing, ever. But it's still so awkward. I mean, I don't mind Angie reading what I've written, and she's usually the first person I'll let read something, because she's a brilliant constructive critic, but I would never choose to let my mother read the same thing. And my mom and I are like the freaking Gilmore girls; we steal each other's CDs, for god's sake. I put off letting my mom read a story I got an A+ on until the last possible minute. Again, I can't explain it, and it's not that I'm afraid they won't say nice things. My mom and I have talked this out so many times, but nothing has come of it. If I still saw a shrink, I would talk to him or her about this, and maybe something would come of it, but maybe I'm just quirky for no good reason.

I like that. Whenever someone asks me why I do the things I do, I'm just going to say that I'm quirky for no good reason. And I have a really weird stream-of-consciousness.


"I'm a bipolar bear!" --Pencil Case

Well, I had the most hilarious experience of my life today. It all started because yesterday, Pencil Case wanted to know how to say "beef log" in French, and Madame just told him how to say "sausage", which he realized whilst looking through a dictionary today to figure out how to spell it.

Pencil Case: Wait!! That's not "beef log"!
Madame: No, it's sausage. You can't just put words together like that, people won't understand what you're saying.
Pencil Case: You LIIIIIED to me! (or something like that.)

Then Maggie randomly brought up the pepperoni story to change the subject, which I'm safely betting Emily told her. But Pencil Case had to interrupt again.

Pencil Case: Well, if I went to France, and I wanted to say "beef log", what would I say?
Madame: Pencil Case, you're still talking!
Chelsea, more random subject-changing: Can you say something in Russian for us?
Pencil Case: You speak Russian?!?!
Madame: Yeah, it's my native language.
Pencil Case: No! French is your native language!
Madame: Don't tell me what my native language is, Pencil Case! I grew up in Russia.
Pencil Case: No, you didn't! You grew up in France!
Madame: Don't tell me where I grew up, Pencil Case. You know what, go get a drink. ::gestures walking with her fingers:: A looong drink. Drink until the bell rings.

Pencil Case leaves the room, and Madame closes the door behind him, holding it shut with her foot. After a few minutes, we eventually return to almost-normal class, but then Pencil Case pops his head back in. He tries to talk his way back in, but Madame just pushes his head back out and closes the door again. This happens a few times until Pencil Case decides to send notes under the door. First, one was an apology note, but Madame would not accept it, and wrote that on the back, sending it back under the door. Pencil Case sent it back under all ripped up (I just got this visual of Pencil Case maniacally ripping the sheet of paper up outside the door.)

Anyway, this was the second note Pencil Case sent under the door:

Caption, since the color wouldn't show up very well on my digital camera: "I'm NOT thirsty."

Madame sent back a response:

Finally, Pencil Case was reallowed into the classroom, and Maggie, Chels, me, and the rest of the class (except for the crabby juniors) had regained breathing after laughing for roughly ten minutes straight. You kind of had to be there.

Pencil Case, later: Madame is no fun to fight with because she always wins.


I'm So Dreamy.

A note: I'm going by my real name now. But you can still call me Cate if that's what your precious heart desires.

Okay, y'all know that Natalie had a dream about me two nights ago, right? Well, now Madame had a dream about me last night. So weird. It went, when she explained it, something like this:

"I had a dream last night-- and this isn't a speech, like "I Had a Dream"-- and I was at a concert. It was a classical concert, so everyone was being very quiet, and, all of the sudden, I hear Kellie's voice. And she comes and sits down right next to me, and she's got her nice pink coat on, and she will not stop talking, and I keep saying, "Kellie, shhhhhh" but she just keeps on talking."

Yeah, and in other French-class news, when Pencil Case (hi, Benjamin!) gets his test back, we're going to take a picture of the infamous mad-face and post it on here.

Madame: Pencil Case, why aren't you going to Fall Fest?
Pencil Case: I don't agree with dances.
Madame: You don't agree with dances or dances don't agree with you?

Larry and I talked about who we voted for for Fall Fest court during lunch. He basically voted for people he does not like and wants to humiliate (I won't name names...), and I basically voted for people who are nice, whilst stifling the urge to humiliate people. Then we discussed with Bet about how impalement would be the worst way to die. I *heart* my world history seating arrangement.



A few things I would like to report:

  • Schmeeze used the word "sexified" today. That was noted for Angie.

  • We lost our Powder Puff game. Whatever, it's rigged, and now ABC can feel good about herself and her nine-inch-fly pants.

  • I was in Natalie's dream last night. So was Brigid, and she lit herself on fire, and, apparently, I told her to keep running. Then Oprah and Dr. Phil were hidden in a secret compartment of the school.

  • Pencil Case brought up his hatred of "French Kiss" up on his French test, so Madame drew this highly entertaining mad face on it. It was the equivalent of a smiley face, really, except that it had a straight line for a mouth and eyebrows. Yes, eyebrows, which tilted in towards the nose. I think I might have to take a picture of it, because it just brought me that much glee. And also because I'm not explaining it very well.

  • And, that's about. Check out the newly-sexified sidebar, sans tagboard. Oh, well, if you want to tell me something random, you'll just have to leave a comment.

    What Happens During 1.5-Hour French Classes

    Well, not much of anything, to be perfectly honest, but hilarity abounds. This is due to the fact that we watched a very 80s video with an evil abusive old man. Well, that's what it looked like in fast forward, which is how we watched all but five minutes of it. This led Pencil Case into leading Madame into reminiscing about her childhood in the 80s and her leg warmers.

    Madame: The 80s were bad everywhere. They were a time when people put colors together that did not belong. And the hair. Seriously, people would but glue, as in paste, in their hair. And if you ran into something, well, you would just bounce right off.

    Then Girly Sweater randomly joined our class for about a minute as he wandered the halls.

    Madame: Yo, Girly Sweater, what's up?

    I also took an absolutely adorable picture of Chellie, which she agrees is adorable but will not let me post on here because she is afraid of having a stalker. Oh, well. I guess I'll follow her orders, lest she said a man with a mullet and plaid pants after me.

    Poowder Puff game today. This is rather invigorating, despite that it will likely result in injuries and/or humiliation on my behalf. Oh, well. I think La Mere might be coming, because she got excited that I might have some minimal athletic talent. (For those of you who do not know, my mother was-- and still is-- one of those extremely athletic, multiple-sports, team-spirit-team-captain girls. She's also very creative and logical, all of which leads to a crazy combination that equals La Mere, but I think she is secretly somewhat disappointed in my lack of athletic skills and coordination.)

    Okay. Time to go. The 25 of the minutes, they go by the fast. [<-Manolo-speak]


    I am such a little evil wenchy excuse for a teenage girl.

    Ch-ch-check it out. Now. Especially if you go to NDA.


    I AM: Cate, Kellie, Kellinka
    I WANT: oh, lots of things. But, at the moment, another bagel.
    I HAVE: too much stuff.
    I WISH: oooh, lots of things, again. If this whole meme goes as such, well, christ. That'll be boring.
    I HATE: bad grammar, bad manners, people who don't bother to take advantage of opportunities that a lot of people don't have, ignorance
    I FEAR: spiders and dead fish
    I HEAR: Das Vater's goddamn CBS Monday lineup
    I SEARCH: For the truth... because it's out there... bwahahaha. No, usually I'm searching for a randomly misplaced pair of shoes.
    I WONDER: far too often. Usually during algebra.
    I REGRET: quite a bit, and I'm sure there's more to come.
    I LOVE: words.
    I ACHE: in the feets.
    I ALWAYS: turn to sarcasm in times of trouble.
    I AM NOT: underinformed.
    I DANCE: way more often than I should.
    I SING: hahahahahahaha. Yeah, righty-o.
    I CRY: not that often. Only in extreme times of stress or upsetness.
    I AM NOT ALWAYS: the nicest person.
    I WRITE: all the time.
    I WIN: air hockey. Well, at least against Dave.
    I LOSE: shoes, socks, homework.
    I CONFUSE: myself at times.
    I NEED: a man! Ha, no, really, I need coffee at the moment, who'da thunk?
    I SHOULD: finish my algebra homework. (Are we sensing a pattern here? No wonder I failed my quiz.)

    Yeah. That's about it. The next time Das Vater tells me "This isn't [insert awful place to live-- Nazi Germany, etc.-- here]!" I might just make it be [insert awful place to live here].

    Reasons Why I Hate the Holidays

    I just felt I needed to make a list, because my blog has not yet experienced the holidays and I wouldn't want people to get shocked when I spend a month in a half in a general state of pissed-off.

    • My father works in retail. Enough said.
    • My mother is, for once in the year, a decorating freak. Three Christmas trees, now, is that really necessary? Well, it is if you're La Mere and it's the holidays.
    • I detest ham due to an incident during which I regurgitated several ounces of it one Christmas.
    • It's so bastardized and commercialized.
    • The music is generally crappy. And overplayed, then forgotten about until the next November.
    • I hate Thanksgiving with my family because we force ourselves to pretend it is not all about football. This is why we're going down to my mother's family's place this year, because they don't even bother to pretend.
    • Retail. Bastardized. Commercialized.
    • It freaking devours shopping malls.
    • CoolAunt is the only person who sends cool cards. Last year, it included a picture of her dogs dressed up looking like babushka ladies. (Don't ask me what babushka ladies are, but that's exactly what they looked like.)
    • Three. Christmas. Trees. And the guest bedroom becomes a gift-wrapping station.
    • There are no longer end tables for me to put my coffee on, because they've been devoured by decorations.
    • We are often expected, in our families, to pretend to love each other and Experience the Season of Giving.
    • Which is really just the Season of Bastardization and Freakish Retail and Fugly Decorations.
    • I might be forced to see Christmas with the Kranks.

    Punky Brewster and Tritonian Entertainment

    Well, most importantly, Pencil Case is hilarious and I'm going to kick his ass. We did corrections in French today, and apparently, his were inadequate.

    Madame: How does "c" explain what the answer was for number three?
    Pencil Case: Well, c is the first letter of cat, and cats have, on average, 14,000 hairs, which, divided by 73, equals 13.5, which is the number of original episodes of Punky Brewster, a television show made during the early 80s, and, when that was filmed, she was about ten, and there are ten letters in "stylo-bille."

    (For those of you who don't remember all of that rambling, Pencil Case put the finishing touches on it during gym this afternoon for me.)

    Also, because it's so entertaining, highlights from this week's special Fall Fest edition of our school newspaper, The Tritonian.

    "Play with my hair and tell me how beautiful I am." --Paul, answering the question of what guys can do to make Fall Fest a special night

    "Not talk." --Paul, answering what girls can do to make Fall Fest a special night

    "Play with my hair and tell me I'm beautiful." --OperaBoy's older sister on what girls can do to make Fall Fest a special night

    "[BB's brother], because he plays a mean bass." --random kid on who his dream date for Fall Fest is

    "Nick [lastname], Jr. or Paul [lastname], Jr." --Maggie on her dream date

    "I would be honored to be chosen as one of the many dates of Paul [lastname]." --KT's sister Kara on her dream date

    "Fritz the Leprechaun." --random girl on her dream date (what kind of a leprechaun is named Fritz, for god's sake, they're named Paddy.)

    "Madame [lastname]." --Girly Sweater, everyone's favorite crazed junior on, of course, his dream date

    "[Random teacher]. Who cares if she's happily married with four kids?" ---one of the many random hot be-chickpants-ed guys, on his dream date.

    Hahaha, this issue is basically just kids shouting-out to their friends and being quoted as saying ridiculous things. Adorable. I love it.

    ABC on our ridiculously bad quiz scores: You can't just regurgitate, regurgitating gets you nothing but a big mess of vomit on the floor.
    (long pause.)
    Diana: That's gross.

    I'm going to leave y'all with that thought.



    A few things I may or may not have forgotten to post earlier. Because I'm brainfried, but I think that 8 is too early to go to bed.

    [La Mere is lusting after a $99 tablecloth at Williams and Sonoma.]
    Das Vater: You should have married a rich man.
    La Mere: I still can.

    And to think people sometimes wonder where my sarcastic and biting wit comes from. But oh, dear, La Mere and her crime shows and her unfortunate occasional deafness that makes her turn the TV up so loudly.

    "Ooooh, this is a scary book!" --the bake sale. I can't believe I forgot that, it was almost as funny as "Little Spiller." Well, if you're me and it's 7:30 in the morning, anything said is funny. But anyway.

    And, yes, Miss Angie is right, I have infiltrated the senior blogging ring. And freshman whom I don't know very well, and a sophomore, and, perhaps even a junior! I am ridiculous. But it turns out Chelsea has been doing some of the same. We should fuse our knowledge of the NDA Blogosphere together and then just be all, "Ha-ha, our blogs are ten times funnier, prettier, and smarter than yours, bitches!" Which is true in most cases, actually. Although some of them are quite entertaining (usually inadvertently.)

    The damn sidebar that I worked so hard to create has slid down. Ugh. If it does not slide up in the next few days, I'm going to switch templates so I don't have to make the poor fingers of myself and my readers scroll down to bask in its beauty. Ha ha, not really. Angie's is much better.

    Good Golly Gosh.

    Well, good golly gosh. New template and sidebar, ch-ch-check it out.


    So, yes, we had CoolAunt's surprise 50th birthday party last night in Milwaukee. It was rather enjoyable, although parties tend to make me overstimulated since they involve lots of people talking, but it was still very fun. We played CoolAunt Jeopardy and watched a slide show full of lots of incriminating and hilarious pictures of CoolAunt. The party was at this really cool gallery with lots of pretty art, which kept La Mere entertained for quite some time. (For those of you who do not know La Mere very well, she loves, loves, loves looking at art and once spent almost eight hours in the Louvre.)

    Oh, and CoolAunt's pimp "boyfriend", Gunar, and his crazy wife Lisa were there, which caused even more merriment, as you can imagine. Apparently I was betrothed to their son at the ripe age of four, and Lisa remembers back when I was (naturally) blonde but has not really seen me since. Anyway, she seemed to be slightly tipsy the whole time, which was hilarious. Also, much to my thrilledment, Joan and Katharine came! For those of you who do not know who Joan and Katharine are... well, you're just DEPRIVED and haven't heard my lovely tales of my last Europe trip. I suppose I will have to post some of these lovely tales now. They involve, as you can imagine, drinking, swearing, and scarves. Yes, scarves.

    Something tells me Angie is the only person who will understand a word of this entry.

    I bought the Rilo Kiley CD yesterday and it is FABULOUS. I think my favorite song is "Portions for Foxes", but I also really love "Love and War (11/11/46)".

    CoolAunt Jeopardy question: "This is CoolAunt's favorite activity, because she can do it in English, Spanish, French, German, and Italian."
    Nancy: SWEARING!

    Another CoolAunt Jeopardy question: "A long time ago, CoolAunt's co-workers told her that she was demoralizing them by driving around this what?"
    Joan: Piece of crap!!
    Aunt Lovely: That's pretty close.


    One Hell of a Bake Sale.

    Yes, so I ended up at school before 7 this morning, despite NOT HAVING ANY SCHOOL, and then we had one hell of a Bake Sale. And by Bake Sale, I mean "hanging out with Madame in the French room because the liars who said they'd bring baked goods this morning are just that, liars, and I was the only person who showed up anyway." It was actually extremely amusing. I got my homework done and listened to French pop music and chatted with Madame about the most random things ever. And then she would continously offer me food from the teachers' lounge ("But we have blueberry bagels! With strawberry cream cheese, Cate, are you sure you're not hungry?") and I'd get kicked out for a few minutes at a time when a parent would show up. Oh, and then there was the coffee. I spilled my coffee, which everyone found very amusing except for me. And I was mainly not amused because I could have drunk that coffee, you know? Yes. But it was not a big deal. Except that Senora G now calls me "little spiller." Anyway, during these times when I was kicked out of the room, I would hang out with Senora G, put notes randomly in my friends' lockers and binders, and get antagonized by Random Math Teacher.

    It was really much more entertaining than it should have been. Then I went and got Krispy Kremes, which were warm, and stopped at B&N and listened to music samples and bought The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay with Das Vater's money. By the way, Angie, you're right, the lead singer of Pretty Girls Make Graves has an excellent voice, and I'd loooove it if you could burn me a copy of their CD. Then I traversed on to Best Buy to find the new Rilo Kiley CD, but the idiot salespeople could not find it and neither could genius me, so I bought the Magnetic Fields' i instead. As you can see, it's been a highly eventful day thus far, and it's only quarter to 11! I should get up before 6 and drink lots of coffee more often.


    The Jane Craig in Me Has Revealed Herself Again.

    GDFSFDSGFFFFSSSSGGGGGGGBBBB. Yeah, now just think of profanities that start with those letters, and you've got what I've been saying for the past ten minutes. Okay, as if the highly stress-inducing 65% was not bad enough, I got an 88% on my French test. Which really isn't that bad, except that... um, hi, it's French. I don't get below a 90. On anything. Ever. And now I have a 96 and I'm going to fail immersion school.

    I need to settle down, but it's so hard when I'm addicted to the goddamn online gradebook and it keeps getting changed every five minutes.

    Oh, wait, I'm still probably at a 97, it's just that the grades for our dialogues have suddenly disappeared. Don't ask me why I keep checking this thing when I have to look at that stupid F for my second quarter ICP grade. Okay, I swear I'm just going to let this blog die if it just becomes me getting all obsessive and excessive and high strung and Jane Craig and "Vienna" -esque, because no one wants to read that and no one should have to read that, so I'll just keep it to myself.

    Really, I'm like one of those dieting blogs for the academically-stressed lately, and it has got to stop. Although maybe I'll pioneer a new type of blog: grade-obsessed-freak-blogs. It's going to stop. I promise. And if it doesn't, I'll probably drive myself crazy.

    My brother has the cutest laugh ever. It's possibly his one nice quality, even if he is laughing at Ed, Edd, and Eddy. I love her dearly, PJ Harvey's eyebrows are just ridiculously awful on the cover of Uh Huh Her. Really, woman, just be like me and have your mom do it. My "life soundtrack" playlist on iTunes has 38 songs, at least half of which are sad and/or depressing.

    See? I actually had three non-obsessive thoughts in a row. I'm calming down. I'm going to go to sleep early tonight, get eight hours, even though I've never needed them--- OH MY GOD. That's why I did so AWFUL on all my grades. Christ almighty. I didn't sleep last night, not any more than six hours at the most. THAT'S WHY I DID SO AWFUL.

    Well, I can breathe now. And I'm going to get eight hours of sleep, and go to the bake sale a bit early in a misguided attempt to get a hold of Adult Hermione (actually, Das Vater is going out to breakfast with a friend and needed to drop me off early, but that will give me something to do). And then I'm going to tell Madame she was totally right about the sleep thing, her and her smart-ass Harvard brain studies, and I'm going to drink more water and get more sleep.

    My god, I can't believe I didn't figure out the sleep thing from re-reading all these psychotic and rambly blog entries now. Maybe I'm just a total moron.


    She's not in her room. Which is upsetting, because I won't be able to talk to her right after school, because she'll have conferences. And tomorrow I don't have school. Sometimes I hate my raging Jane Craig genes. Maybe if I tell La Mere she will tell Das Vater that they don't really need to see Adult Hermione, that I'm doing fine in ICP (which I am), and that they'll just not see her like they did with the other teachers who teach subjects I'm doing well in and see the teachers they need to see (which is, like, two of them. But still.) And then it will all be nice and shiny and happy and another crisis averted by the wiliness of my Jane Craig skills.

    Or maybe it will just all suck. That seems to be more likely, considering how my day has gone academically thus far. (Although I have an A+ in world history still, with five assignments, which means the parents will have to let me take that afternoon off to go to SMS and do nothing--- I mean, work at Mini-Course Day.) Ahhhsososostressed. Maybe I can just catch her, like, right away after the bell rings. That sounds reasonable enough. Although I don't know what I'm actually going to say. My god.

    How I'll Never Be Anything I Hate.

    I need a cooler name. Because, seriously, my real name, which I realized during English has now been revealed to a large number of you, is shared with thousands of other people born within five years of me. And, seriously, with my tinyness and my geek-chic glasses and my sarcastic, biting wit, I need a much less preppy-sounding, preppy-spelled name. I think we need to think of a hot name for me, okay?

    So, yes. I have had "The Dark of the Matinee" stuck in my head since... well, since at least our fire drill around 10:00. Slightly distressing. I keep forgetting everything I have to say. Good lordy, could someone PLEASE get me some Gingko Biloba? I also seemed to forget, or just not notice, that the French club bake sale starts at 7:00 in the morning tomorrow when I signed up for it. So now I have to be to school on an off day an hour earlier than I start school on a regular day. Oh, well, I will have lots of fun with... whoever else signed up. Which is evidently not Maggie or Chelsea (<-- Jewish-grandmother guilting upon people who were much smarter than I was about signing up.) Oh, bumbuses, this is going to require so much coffee. Maybe I can con my mother into letting me use her portable coffee thing and filling it up with a highly sugared-up cappuccino.

    We read "The Necklace" during English, and when English Teacher asked if we felt sorry for Mathilde, this led to hilarity between myself and Brigid.
    Brigid: I feel sorry for her, I guess.
    Me: But she was such a social climber!
    Brigid: Hey, shhh, I'm a social climber. I borrow people's necklaces and lose them.
    Me: But are they made of paste?
    Brigid: No, but seriously, it's like, Madame Loisel equals Brigid. (Goes on to write on her quiz: "MADAME LOISEL = MADEMOISELLE BRIGID!" with lots of random rising and falling accents on the "BRIGID" part.)

    Speaking of English class, yesterday Nate read this highly stupid story out loud, and then we had to write an ending for it. It was so awful I am not even bothering to dignify it with remembering the title. Anyway, though, this kid is absolutely obsessed with this egg and so is his friend Paddy or whatever, and he watches it and blah blah blah, and then the story cuts off. Except I wasn't really listening, so my ending was, "There was nothing in the nest, so Colm traversed home, disappointed, to another meal of salted fish and potatoes." Seriously, you are never allowed to sic my bitter sense of humor on such an awful story again, English Teacher. I am too wicked.

    This is such a terribly long post about nothing. The library smells like pumpkin seeds, but not in a good way. I think this smell is wafting over from the Periodical room. Anyway, since I was running very late today for study hall, I did not get to go see this random Broadway actor guy who is visiting us with Schmeeze and Maureen, and then I showed up late to the library and was chastized. For those of you who know how fast I walk, you know that being late generally means I have a long way to go and, therefore, I should not be punished or chastized.

    ABC was so evil to Diana today. We had a quiz, and Di didn't have her calculator, and she was going to borrow one from someone who was done with their test, but ABC wouldn't let her. Why, might you ask? Because she is apparently the evil Nazi in charge of calculator distribution, that's why. Really, ABC, it wasn't your calculator, and you had no issues loaning your lone calculator to Bryan. Good golly gosh.

    I should go find something productive to do. I'll have to tell Senora G that one of her comments on RateMyTeachers.com is "ROCK ON!", which I find highly entertaining.

    Oh christ. How did I manage to get a 65% on an ICP quiz I spent at least a cumulative hour studying for?!?!?!? And then I always do extremely well on my tests?!?!?! This is really a lovely grade for the day of parent-teacher conferences (hahaha, speaking of which, the teachers are all dressed up, which is somewhat amusing, because they want to look all nice for our parents). Even though it only brings my grade down a point, it still makes me really, really upset, and my father will be all ridiculous about it, and then I'll get a 96 on my test, AS USUAL, because I always do. Of course, the one time I got 100 on my quiz, I only got a 90 on my test and.... AGH. I suppose I could go have the librarian write me a pass so I can talk to Adult Hermione about this, which will seem really geeky and they might not even let me go now that I was chastized for being late. But whatever. I'll try it. Because this is the longest blog post in forever.


    I am short.

    And, my friends, these are the ends of my jeans. I love that I could make my jeans into footie pajamas if I really wanted to and still have enough fabric left to make a skankalicious miniskirt. I think I need a Wednesday activity. So, tomorrow, I'm thinking perhaps I'll take my ghetto low-grade digital camera and randomly take pictures and post them up here. Note that it will be a lot of my random friends making faces between classes. If the low-grade digicam does not get confiscated first. I am determined to post an incriminating picture of Pencil Case as revenge.

    Record Blogging Day.

    I think this might be a record blogging day for me. But, sadly, I haven't had much to talk about, other than eGames and my father being immature about food. Actually, the latter, I have not even explained on here but I don't really have any desire to. I suppose I could talk about Bressers choking on candy in Senora G's room, where he and Chelsea and Duct Tape and I were randomly hanging out for a few minutes after school. He wasn't really choking, it was just... stuck... or so he says. We were all very concerned, anyway, and then Senora conned us into joining forensics by giving us candy. (Read: By letting Bressers steal candy and then leaving the box open for me and Chels and Duct Tape. But whatever. She's still so terribly nice.)

    Oh, yes. Powder Puff practice, quite the event. I forgot that rain is quite as cold and wet as it really is, as noted by the fact that I left my sweatshirt at home. But still very fun. My poor fingers have yet to regain their full mobility, though. Ha, I am witholding formal French forms of "you" from Angie because she doesn't deserve them. Elle est stupide et vraiment mechante. Je ne rigole pas! This is what happens when you spend lots of time memorizing how to conjugate your -er verbs because you have the memory span of, hmmm, let us see, a mosquito. Or perhaps a goldfish.

    Blog Love Rhombus.

    Okay, I know I'm supposed to be married to my (five) blogs, and, yes, Chellie's blog is my lover... but Bet's blog is my other lover. Which makes this a big blog love rhombus.

    No, but seriously, go check out Bet's blog. And read the post "Squirrels", because it just caused me to crack up in front of the whole damn library, so now everyone thinks I'm insane.

    Juan just randomly waved at me and made a ridiculous face whilst walking past. Thanks, Juan. Really, you just keep on flipping Mrs. Enegy off.

    Blogger = Bugger. Again.

    Ha ha, it did post during French, when we scammed the Mr. NDA ballots (and by "we" I mean Madame) and talked too much. Hahaha, so we got our pick-3 ballots for Mr. NDA, which was highly amusing because Madame was so determined to get all of her students on there, and even went so far as to say, "If you don't know who these boys are, just come over here and I'll help you pick." Then she did not realize Paul was on the ballot ("Paul! My god! Paul!") and so she went and made sure a large percentage of the class had circled his name.

    I am totally working the bake sale on Friday morning and Maggie and Chelsea better work it too, lest I hurt them. So, anyway, I've turned in my slip for the drawing to be an escort for the Mr. NDA pageant. There is talk of it going co-ed next year, which I think is extremely stupid. First of all, when you bring girls into it, it will just become a popularity contest, and, also, what the hell are you going to call it? Mr. or Ms. NDA? NDA Individual? Come on.

    The backs of our volleyball T-shirts say "SPIKE 'EM". Erik and I agree this is terribly, terribly sexual. It looks like it's going to rain, which sucks because I have Powder Puff. Grrrr.


    Well, now it's tradition to blog whenever we're banished to the computer lab for French (which I really don't understand, it takes us all of five minutes to play the games and get 100), so here I am. Plus, writing tends to prevent me from talking.

    Hahaha, I totally am kicking Dan's butt at getting better times on the eGame. 29 seconds? You can't beat me. Bwahahaha. I am going to leave the window open to prove this record, because it's awesome.

    Well, I didn't get a part in the play again. Whatever, I'll just be on crew. And pretend I didn't have a lot invested in this emotionally, because I'm not really sure if I did or not. (I need to get a better sense of my emotions. I think this is because I try to explain the simplest ones, like "sad" or "happy", in extreme detail because I don't like feeling simple and, therefore, go out of my way to make myself more complicated than I really am.)

    If there was a way to make a living out of shrinking yourself, I could possibly become the richest woman alive.


    Chelsea's Blog is My Lover.

    And, if you go, you'll get to see my real name, and read some of the funniest things ever by the funniest girl I know.

    But don't ask me what David was doing, "doinking" Chelsea. And now I really want to see Keenan's golf clap and gay running, you have no idea. Hahaha, Chelsea, your blog is like crack, that's why I send plaid-panted mullet men after you when you don't update!

    (Yeah. And if you're going to call me by my real name, blog readers, dignify my sorry butt with a Kellinka. Which Lil' J thought was my full name, but is actually just a longer-ish nickname made up at random by myself and my mother. Oh, don't even ask.)

    Oh, my good golly gosh, a retraction: I put the wrong link for Chels's blog, go check out the new one because it kicks bum!! Also, Chels is coming to Writer's Union with me, just to hang out with me and David. And she is, like, oh, my new favorite person EVER.

    "I want to be the tight end. Ha ha, I already am!" --Schmeeze, at Powder Puff

    I'm in a bad mood, again. Lil' J and I are going to be Bad Buddies now, on top of being IC/P Flunk Buddies. I have auditions and intramural volleyball this afternoon, wish me luck and if you don't, I'm probably so crabby that I would at the least cause you minor bodily harm. And don't think I won't find out.

    So my button fell off my shirt on the bus this morning, revealing lots of upper chest and parts of my bra. Lovely, yes, thankfully that nice Genius Idea character lent me one of those butterfly paper-clip things (a tiny one) because no one had any godforsaken safety pins. And when I say no one, I mean absolutely not a soul had a godforsaken safety pin. And, as Maggie says, "We wouldn't want Cate spilling out all over the place." (I love that she actually pretends there's something that could spill over just to save my self-esteem.)

    Four thousand bazillion quizzes on Thursday, and then next week is Fall Fest week on top of us having incredibly screwed up scheduling from Tuesday on. I'm still trying to understand it, but apparently an hour and a half of French might be involved, so I'm just shutting up. Maybe it's on the school's website or somesuch.

    Juan: What's "hall decorating"?
    Coach N: It's when we decorate the halls of the school to celebrate our Hispanic heritage, and Thor is the giant pinata.

    I might be switching to Lil' J and Molly and Maureen's Irish dance class, which thrills me greatly. They're only one step (ha ha, not even a bad pun) ahead of me, so it wouldn't be a big change or anything.



    There's a really crap poem whipped up in all of ten minutes by me at random on Screw the Typist. Also, there's lots of spammy fun stuffs on the GJ, so check all that out, lest I keeeel you dead.

    Oh, Joyness.

    You can read about my weekend at Angie's blog since I'm too lazy to post about it myself.

    We had our pick-five ballot things for Mr. NDA today, so of course Genius Idea read them and mocked us and the candidates, which involved the only cute thing Paul has done in, oh, probably his whole life.

    Genius Idea: Maggie just voted for the cute boys-- like Paul!
    (Paul is enormously blushing and smiling.)
    Paul: Miss Madame!
    Genius Idea: I am just stating a fact!

    It was very sweet. Then she continued to make fun of us and Paul continued to, I don't know, verbally abuse Maggie or whatever it is Paul does when I'm not supervising him. (I'm just kidding. He's a very nice boy, that Paul.)

    I actually felt politically intelligent and ready to talk politics (not, like, Democrat-Repbulican politics, like, do we have true democracy and why the hell don't people vote more politics) in world history today. It was basically Larry and Mr. Teacher and I talking and the rest of the class being awed at the dozens of big words, but still. It was nice, and did not involve shouting, or Bush-Bashing, or Kerry-Bashing. I love non-election political discussions. And I worked "If you do not vote, P. Diddy is going to kill you" in there, because it was in Molly's AIM profile and I loved it.


    Angie's Hizzouse

    Hola. Como estas? And that, my friends, is the extent of my Spanish.

    We are listening to Bowie on the ghetto radio. Apparently we can play this at Angie's funeral. Or, as I originally typed it, funeralS. Because she is definitely going to have more than one, you know. RateMyTeachers.com (not RapeMyTeachers.com...... Erik...) is highly addictive. Papa Paddy thinks I sound like Bird's Nest on the telephone. I should go help Angie fold papers. Buhbye darling dearests.

    "Cate, can you beat Pencil Case up for me?" "Verbally or physically?" "Whatever works."

    Sooooo many subs today. Three substitutes, and I only have seven teachers. Well, our sub in theology was mainly because our teacher went home to take his medicine and fell asleep. Lovely, huh?

    There are so many things I want to talk about right now, but I'm at school and I'm just tired of talking about sad things. So I'm only going to talk about happy things, like pretty dresses and Powder Puff Football and other nice things. So, yes. I bought a dress. It's red, and somewhat Audrey Hepburnish. Fall Fest week is going to be a blast, seriously. We have Powder Puff Football and 20s dress up day (what the hell am I going to wear for THAT? Oh, well, we'll think of something) and hall decorating and all that fun stuff. It will be highly entertaining, I'm sure.

    Me: We're playing sophomores.
    Bet: Yes we are.
    Me: That also means we're playing Keishia.
    Bet: Oh god.
    Me: Pretty much. And then with ABC talking about her pounding people in math the other day...
    Bet: Yes, that was a great boost of confidence.
    Me: I was like, thank you for feeding my paranoia, really.

    I've realized that I don't have very many non-upsetting things to talk about.

    Hey, Ms. Angie, do you want to go to the NDA play tonight, or tomorrow night? I mean, I'll be at your house in about an hour and a half anyway, but I'm worried that I might forget and so I'm asking you now. It will be fun. It involves pirates, and Maggie, and Chelsea, and Pencil Case, and making fun of Alice Fox. I mean, you can not deny yourself making fun of Alice Fox, can you?


    "L'algebra commencent a quelle heure? I mean, pourquoi?"

    Yeah, that was how Chelsea started our dialogue today. So of course I spent at least a minute laughing, and then the rest of the dialogue trying really hard not to laugh again. It was all about Chels's facial expressions. Although it was also a highly entertaining French class for numerous Madame-related reasons that kind of made up for the stress of whipping up a French dialogue in a night despite not having French class.

    Genius Idea: I mean, no tube tops or anything.
    Mr. Fundraising: Or tube pants!

    Maggie: Can we wear, like, any shirt or does it have to be an NDA shirt?
    Genius Idea: I don't know. I'll have to ask Mr.... Downstairs.
    (I laugh.)
    Genius Idea: Simmer down now, Cate.

    Maggie: I can't miss rehearsal, Stary would kill me.
    Genius Idea: Oh, Stary's going to kill you, that's the funniest thing I've ever heard! Stary is completely harmless.

    [Chelsea and I tell her about the whole "screwing"/"hammered" discussion]
    Genius Idea, laughing really hard: That's awful! That should be patented as a funny quote.

    [Pencil Case makes her tell the big backpack story again.]
    Pencil Case: I think that's just like Cate! That's exactly what Cate would do! [Goes up to the board and writes "Cate + Backpack = evil".]

    (Actually, that probably is exactly what I would do. But anyway.)

    Hahahaha, Bunsen burners in Intro to Chem and Physics. I find fire too amusing, don't I? Then again, my partner was all worried that we didn't have the flame quite right, since he's, you know, Mr. Bunsen Burner Guru or whatever. Oy vey. And apparently ABC doesn't know the difference between a sweater and a shirt, which is stupid.

    I think I may be going Fall Fest dress shopping tonight, so wish me luck finding something that: a) fits, b) I like, and c) looks nice.


    You would be like the cat lady in these shoes.

    My new favorite blog.

    OY VEY.

    Yeah, it kind of published with just the title before. And I realized that the title could be about any number of things, so I'm going to let you guess:

    Was this OY VEY directed towards:
    a) politics (BB: "And I was, like, DIE BUSH! Seriously, what happens if Bush dies, how about now?" Really, BB is just the cutest person ever.)
    b) church, a worthless hour for which I missed French
    c) boredom
    d) not being able to find my winter coat
    e) nearly missing my bus
    f) wanting candy

    Yeah. But my mom just kind of alleviated this my sending me an e-mail signed, DIRECT QUOTE: "Have a Romy and Michelle day! La Madre".


    This is what happens when I have caffeine after 2.

    After volleyball today, Erik and I made prank calls on Jackie's cell phone. We called radio stations, and random people Jackie knows, and my mom's office, and then Erik shouted at them in Japanese. Oh, and then hot boys walked past without their shirts on and I was momentarily distracted.

    Das Vater is worried that Kerry will win. I am worried about these morons on the Fox News Channel, which never seems to cut to commercial. Really, half an hour into this thing they were making and discussing sound effects. So what happens 3 hours in, when they're just bored out of their skulls? I don't want to know.

    Magic Palm Tree

    Oh, a highly entertaining morning, despite all the politicalosity that's flying around right now. (Soooo many kids with Bush/Cheney stickers, ABC told them they were only Republicans because they have rich parents and that she's a single, middle-class woman and therefore, the Republicans do nothing for her. That's nice. We all know you're living off a teacher's salary, thanks. Although, sadly, I agreed with her on, oh, everything. I'm trying to be mad at her for invading my privacy.)

    Okay, apparently my mother doesn't check her email. And I am too retarded to set up my schedule properly in Microsoft Outlook, too. Grrrrness.

    Anyway. We had a few minutes of doing-nothing at the end of French today, so Chelsea and Maggie and I headed over to the bean bags. Chelsea was fondling Madame's palm tree, so I said, "Chelsea! Stop picking at the palm tree." And she goes, "I'm not! I'm petting it!" Madame, grinning maniacally: "Don't touch the palm tree! People who touch the Magic Palm Tree will get in trouble!" Then I put my backpack on the table part of a desk and it toppled completely, further proving that I can manage to be klutzy without inflicting pain upon myself. I laughed really hard and Madame was laughing too, because I'm obviously ridiculous, and goes, "You're so hyper."

    Which was not exactly great, because I had English next, and then, after English, a "prayer service" about Random Acts of Kindness. Whatever. I spent most of it talking to Betty and making fun of this lady's annoying voice. Then ICP, which I swore during because Mute came back so I had to return to my seat in the Boondocks, alias the Back of the Room. (Me: "DAMN! I mean, darn! Darn, I don't want to sit in the back!" Adult Hermione was highly entertained.) I had Mountain Dew during lunch to perk up, but I ran that all off during gym making fun of Barbie with Liza Minelli (who I usually do not enjoy the presence of, which is why I call him Liza Minelli), and then the sham that is world history and now, study hall, making this a very long post about, oh, nothing. But really, during the prayer service, I was genuinely worried Betty would ruin her vocal chords pinching them to tweak them to say "KINDness" in the appropriately nasal way.


    Fametracker Just Made My Day.

    From Anne Heche's Fame Audit (you can find it here):

    Calling her autobiography Call Me Crazy is like Rosie
    O'Donnell writing a book called Call Me

    (It's not quite as amusing when you have to fix all the HTML because copy and paste screws it up.)

    (Never mind. It is.)

    Darth Nader

    UGHPOLITICSGRRRR. Anyway, mock election today during lunch thanks to the Political Action Club. What a sham. All 4 classes had Bush winning, and faculty (go faculty) had Kerry by 49%, 49% because my world history teacher voted Nader just to see what would happen. They said "And, if you're old enough, vote in the real mock election tomorrow". Real mock election? All right then. Whatever you say, Political Action Club.

    I'm also in a very bad mood, not just because politics are the most disgusting load of crap around, but also because, after I finished my math homework, I was writing in my journal, and ABC picked it up and READ IT. I'm, obviously, extremely mad about this but I'm trying not to let it irk me. (It is, to an immense degree.)

    Okay, now I'm going to go update the GJ with a DH recap, so check it out.