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


This is How Cool I Am

So, I am in my real study hall, which is luckily in the lab, where we have computers. Unfortunately, I was way late in getting here, because I didn't have a library pass. This led to me needed to beg Madame to give me a library pass, but she wasn't anywhere in a position to do so (as in, she was going down the hall to Brooker's office), so she told me just to go to the attendance office to ask where it is. Yep, that is exactly how cool I am.

Merci beaucoup to all of you who leave lovely comments on the fiction blog. And to Chelsea, who reads it all but is just too lazy. I have submitted to LitMag four times, how whorish of me, as much as Chels insists it isn't. I will notify you all on the slim chance I actually get in. Angie is the best commentor ever.

This computer screen is a piece of crud; it matches my mood, which matches the weather. However, I'm sure that tonight will perk me up much like my purchasing of a turquoise Nine West bag at TJ Maxx (also known as Mecca) for ten dollars did last night. Maybe it is just Friday that makes me feel down, or that I just came from a bitch of an art class and mortifying myself in front of roughly eight people due to my inability to remember room numbers.

I'd meant to ask for a pass at lunch. Really, I had. Somewhere between subtle comments about my height and having an allergy headache, I'd really, truly meant to, the way I do a lot of things. Loudspeaker announcements are stupid. I should familiarize myself with this room, I will be taking Comp Lit, also known as Exactly The Same Class I Took Every Year Since Second Grade at SMS, here next year. And why the hell is there a sink? My Sharona. Also, someone finally found a use for all those free AOL discs: decorating the Comp Lit lab.

AmnesiacMe cannot remember anything else that happened today. Dialogues are a bitch, calculating grades for English is a bitch even when the grades are A's, ICP is definitely a bitch, open-book tests for theology are not, rising pollen levels are, however, you get the idea.

Actually, I spent most of English looking through my notebooks for some last-minute Litmag submissions. All my truly good stuff is far too personal. I wish today would just get over with so it could be tonight.

Spastic Study Hall Supervisor: Is this in German?!

Have I mentioned the time in French where we antagonized Madame so much about what car she drove that she finally exploded and said, "FINE! I DRIVE A BLACK TRUCK!" Good times, good times. Even better times are when Chelsea, and Maggie, and I were discussing this at Max and Erma's, and Chelsea goes, "But how can she even see over the steering wheel?" Yep, that is my revenge for not getting a library pass, Madame.

Brownie's voice on the loudspeaker just scared the bejesus out of me. She is a funny lady and randomly knows who I am.


Blogger mai babbled mindlessly...

Anyyyyytime, dahling.

I have grown really, really anxious about ICP next year. I mean, you are smarter than me and you aren't scraping a B in that class last time I checked.

I hope friday night sends you up.

Ah, and I hope your allergy meds quell the bitch that is pollen.

5:55 PM

Blogger mai babbled mindlessly...

Bitch, I do not babble mindlessly! I orate logically.

Hahah, a couple more comments and I will be a certificable Comment Whore.

Or, as you would have it, a Comment Whore Who Babbles Mindlessly.

5:57 PM


Post a Comment

<< Home