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

3.02.2005

Didja Miss Me?

I am obviously a maniac. I just finished a research paper on Edgar Allan Poe's drug and alcohol addiction in two hours. Including the title page, the outline, and the works cited. In fact, I had nothing done for it up until 7th hour today, when I wrote all my notecards out. And it only took me six fun-sized Crunch bars and one bagel to do this. In a hair less than two hours. Note that it's exactly 1800 words and I do a lot of babbling, but still. It's done.

Note that I am never doing that for a paper ever again. Worst idea ever. Plus, at the same time, I was randomly selected by La Mère to make baked potatoes for Ricky's birthday dinner. Happy birthday, Ricky and Dr. Seuss and Maggie's mom.

So, let's see. I didn't post yesterday, so I should probably discuss what happened then... um. Not much, to be truly honest. It was my first day in the new history class, which was kind of bizarre. Of course, I came at the best possible time, because today, we started to watch a movie which seems to have nothing to do with WWI, but Mr. B swears it does.

Then again, he also thought that my father and Papa Paddy were twins, which no one found quite as amusing as I did. Oh, and a bunch of people in the class thought I was, yet again, a foreign exchange student. What a surprise.

Let's see... in French, Paul was playing with a wind-up toy thing and we talked about people who hate us and who have skirts that are so short their asses hang out of them. And that was about it, except for when we got yelled at for being freshman by the Idiot Juniors. As if we didn't already know we were freshmen. Also, if you hate the freshmen so much, why would you take French I, a class made of mostly freshmen?

Nobody Tells me Anything Story of the Day #768: Blumreich has a band.

Amazing Non-Flunkage Story of the Day #2: I didn't fail the ICP test. I mean, I got an 84 or something, but still.

So, during lunch, I somehow got conned into singing by Spaz and Madame.

Madame: I wish I could sing.
Me: Me too! I really can't, though. My voice is awful.
Spaz: I bet it's not. Sing something.
Me: No!!! God, what would I sing anyway, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?!
Madame: Sing! Please!
Spaz: Sing something by Norah Jones. Or by Britney Spears.
Me: That's not singing, that's bleating.
Madame, laughing: Kelllllinka. Just sing. If you sing, I'll sing!
Me: I don't want you to sing!
Madame: I'm sure you don't have a bad voice. Just sing something.
Me, after five more minutes of discussing the matter: Fine! But you can't laugh! *Sings a few bars of "On My Own".* See, are you happy now that you've heard my terrible vibrato?

Mortifying, indeed. And of course they insisted that I have a nice voice, but then I had to go to algebra and flunk something. Actually, not really, we just had a worksheet that I mildly understood.

Then I went to art, where Art Teacher called my drawing beautiful, and then I went to study hall, where Nameless and Nameless's friend sat at my table because there were no other seats left. Except by Nameless's current girlfriend Bitchmonster. So bizarre, and they didn't even talked to me, they just talked to each other about math homework until Nameless's friend called him annoying and then they went and sat by Erik's brother when two seats opened up there.

Then in history, we watched the random movie with Hot Young Mel Gibson, who Dogface declared loudly, "a babe", which so far seems to have nothing to do with WWI and a ton to do with wandering aimlessly in the desert of somewhereoranother. Then Mr. B made fun of the country bumpkins who live in howard and randomly declared himself various characters in the movie.

In case you didn't hear: I finished my whole damn research paper in TWO HOURS. I am obviously brilliant!

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