Where did our love go?

Hello. Hello!

Love=blog...by the way.

Personal post time! Senior year is different. The work isn't harder, it isn't easier, either, but there's this big, sharp, shiny axe swinging over our heads like one of those oh-so-easily escapable scenes from a James Bond movie. In less than a month, early apps are due. In less than two months, state university apps are due. In three months or so, everything else is due. This is serious business. We can't just bullshit our way to an A, this is college! This is madness. But we haven't gone Spartan. Yet.

Ooh, every time I come up with what would be a killer ending line, like the last one, I have more to say.

My desk is buried under envelopes and flyers and brochures and postcards and..nail clippers. The last thing aside, the whole college thing is chomping down on my life.

I go to sleep. Dream. I get into my top school! Wake up deliriously happy and then...crash. Nope. I go to sleep. Dream. I get rejected from my top school! And a lot of other places. Wake up in despair, gasping and then...oh. Still too early for that one.

What happened to dreams of archeological digs and underground treasure hunts, etcetera. They were a bit random, but they were cool! This current situation is rather annoying.

And then! The college essay thing. Or rather, the [37] college essay[s] thing. Everything is viewed through that lens. "Ooh, this lisptick doesn't match my eyebrows! Could I possibly extrapolate this into some symbolic brilliant essay?" or "Ooh, I brushed my teeth! Let's examine these intricacies" or "Ooh I met Al Gore in third grade at Samy's Camera. Story time!" I'm not dragging on anyone's potential essay. Some people have the gift of taking something mundane or seemingly insignificant and transforming it into brilliance. I, for one, need to be in a strange mood at a strange time to write well without wanting to tear my hair out. I don't know what my final essay[s] will definitely be on. I may need to bite my tongue.

The other thing is, it is extremely inconvenient to have a birthday in October this year. Or at least, it is extremely inconvenient to have a birthday in October this year if you are me.

This is my last birthday in high school [it's on Tuesday if you, ahem, were wondering] and though I am only turning 17, NOT 18, I wanted it to be special! I wanted to have a proper, return-to-somehow-epic "party" [I use that term in the loosest sense] with a guest list that would read something like "eh forget it, let's just invite 'em." But. My lack of prior planning has led to absolutely zero plans, two days away from my actual birthday. And all the Saturdays this month are wonky. Plus, everyone's frantically trying to finish their early apps. Boohoo.

In retrospect, this post seems like one looooong whiiiiine. But do not interpret it so! This is just a not-so-soothing meditation on the process. I'm excited for the future. Browsing websites for programs is actually really fun, because if I get in, I have a loooot to look forward to. Just realized that could be read as "loot." Ha.

The bit about my birthday might have been whining, though.

In the Spirit of Full Disclosure

With the recent crop of political scandals and resulting resignations, I felt it would be appropriate to divulge certain information that has haunted me for the past seven years, in the event that I pursue a political career.

This sordid saga has its roots in 2003, involving xanthophobia and, it pains me to say, a bribe.

Yes, a bribe. Perhaps even more ignobly, the exchange took place in a classroom setting. How can I bear myself, knowing that I allowed, even initiated, such a heinous act to permeate a room intended for the molding of our nation's youth.

It all spiraled from the christening of our table groups in the classroom, with a 'wild' or 'horror' theme. As my group was unique in that it consisted of two people, we felt naturally superior and therefore named our table after the most illustrious of supernatural creatures, the [true] vampire.

Meanwhile, a rather large group, who incidentally consisted of some good chums, gave their table a rather plebeian, rather unnecessary long [four words] name.

This drew the laughter and scorn of certain members of the class, including, I am loth to admit, myself.

How could I have participated in this breakdown of civility? Where does that leave my moral compass? How can I profess to want to help the world? This is why I take the story to you, my loyal...loyal...um. You get the point.

As we stood in line by the door, eager to escape to glorious nutrition, ahem, sorry, recess, my teacher, who was actually a very pleasant person, swooped down upon a fellow mocker, and instituted what was to me the most horrible punishment of all: "Change your card!"

He, whom I believe was no stranger to the yellow card, went off to do so, leaving me standing in line with bugged-out eyes that anyone who saw me do French dialogues in eighth grade would be familiar with.

Upon his return, I frantically begged him not to rat me out. I pegged him as one of those kids who would not consider 'niceness' as a mantra. And quite honestly, if I had done the same as him, why should I not receive the same consequences?

You have to see, a yellow card [this ain't soccer] would be an unsightly and horrific blemish on my card score sheet. I prided myself on the fact that my last changed card was in 1999. I strived to be the perfect child in school! Each day we remained green meant we could color our score card green. A month of green=teacher lunch [in school] and usually green Powerade [disgusting]. Neither may seem all that appealing to you, but it was. For some reason.

Anyway, I digress. He stood there with a smirk on his face, stubbornly refusing to cover for me. But then I realized I held immense power between my two hands.

Who could resist the power of the mighty Oreo?

I offered him two of my three Oreos in return for his silence. Perfect.

But not really. This lapse of moral judgment and character has haunted me for years. Only in 2007 did I begin to slowly come to terms with my youthful mistake. But I cannot blame it solely on my youth. What kind of monster was I, committing such evil at such an early age?

That is why I take this to you, in the spirt of full disclosure. I cannot keep this unconscionable act to myself any longer. I do not want this incident to torpedo any future career, but of course, that is definitely not the reason I'm sharing this with you. I know you may it find it hard to forgive my indiscretion, but please, in your hearts, find some room.

Mea Culpa.

What?

Why won't you let me format this blog post, blogspot?
Why won't anyone read my blog, blogspot?
Why won't anyone comment, blogspot?
Why won't anyone clickety-click, blogspot?
Why won't...oh, nevermind that's none of your business, blogspot.

Fun Times

This is utterly and completely unimportant, but...

TODAY I STAPLED MY FINGER

wow.

That is quite sad.

But the funny part is=my other thumb bled and is currently throbbing.

And to add insult to injury, the staple was pink.

And my friends were too busy taking pictures of my thumb (as you can see)

Shall follow with a more meaningful post sometime soon.