Monthly Archives: October 2007

Will The Real Jane Austen..


Please… stand up.

Ah yes, another year of Halloween. The leaves are turning lovely shades of red, much like the faces of the people watching the “French Maid” parade go past in the hall. The air is colder, like Mr. Vauter’s disposition when he sees yet ANOTHER mask covering some “smiling student face” (haha grimace grimace).

I accept the fact that this holiday could be labeled as Whoreloween, or carving some Slut-O-Lanterns, but I really enjoy dressing up. Being a lovely Jane Austen this year, I accepted my fate that someone would mistake me for a saucy wench, yet no one did! I got Mary Poppins, Some Medieval Lady, Jane Eyre (“But I don’t want to be the ugly governess, mumsy… make them stop!”) and finally, “some sort of green poofy lady”. I was fine with that, heck, that was it. But I enjoyed the day, say for the elastic digging into my skin and this cursed bodice cutting of air flow and circulation. I love the sleeves, but they snagged my papers. Yeah… trying to (ironically) take an English test and having my Romantic-era sleeves bend the corners or my essay. Curse you, Miss Austen!

Now having a conversation about… bodices with Kramer. Uh huh….

Whatever.

I’m not going Trick-or-Treating.

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What a Gyp.


How important is my education when it is wasted and ruined based on a time crunch?

Rushing through half a test because I ran out of time.

I hate school.

I’m too tired to even want to rant. I spent hours sweeping up after a horse, and I came home from school knowing that I did miserably on this Environmental test. Sure enough, I scraped all of a D. The quarter is ending soon. I was hoping not to be royally screwed with my grades before then. What a dream that was.

In the end, I’m having a “me” day. Watching clips of my svensk Godpappa Peter and drinking an organic banana-peanut butter smoothy.

Yum.

Even if I pull a C in Enviro with the extra credit, I still get a whopping 3.8 Hoo Rah.

I give up.

*chugs milkshake*

yet, worse still

*wipes lips on SLEEVE*

Burn. Take that, Ross.

Oh, the Blessed Irony!


The irony in the gym was so thick, you could have sawed it off with a knife and spread it thickly on freshly-browned toast. With jelly. Chew on that (no pun intended).

I, who have survived my last three years of high school without almost ANY Spirit gear, school t-shirts or Comet Crazy tailgate parties, who has ranted against her class and sat at pep rallies laughing at the cheerleaders and spirit boys…..

I, who solmenly swear that I am up to no good (ha ha) decided that this week of homecoming, I would take advantage of the silliness and actually dress according to the Spirit Week calendar.

And I actually won for Most Spirited.

Walking obliviously throughout my day embracing my Harry Potter pride, I thought nothing of it. I was in it for the fun. Instead, I walk home with a five-dollar certificate to Mitchell’s Ice Cream.

Is that not the best living example of irony ever???

Needless to say, I heard my name called and didn’t know what for. I am invisible to the world! I try and avoid standing out amongst my peers, lest I be trampled like a rabid chicken weaving aimlessly around the henhouse. Yet there I was, being nudged by Marissa to step in front of the entire student population to embrace this award bestowed upon me. Hah…

All I have to say to that, despite how evil it may seem….

LAUGH AT ME AGAIN, FOOLS!
I knew it was worth the cape. It paid off.

And you, you who scorned and ridiculed me for my ridiculous sense of fashion in the spirit of it all… how do you feel, now that without saying a word I was picked out and recognized?

Life is so sweet… but that ice cream will be sweeter.

So yes, to the masses: It just goes to show that you can rage against the machine, and it may just earn you some free ice cream.

Mischief Managed. I’m out.

2008! BEAT BRUNSWICK!

Pure Genius.


Do you remember the 70’s?

Obviously, no one here does either. At least, they are too uninspired to care about remembering that their parents lived through that era. My parents could care less about that era, since it was full of sixties backlash, and age 12 was maybe too young to embrace the wild side. Me, I was born for this era. As Mr. Usher puts it, “You’re that…retro kind of gal. You’de be the fifties girl wearing sixties garb and listening to Pink Floyd.”

Amen, brutha.

While it was a deathly liberal time, still laced with the stereotypical “sex, drugs, and rock and roll”, it was also a chance for artistic license and freedom. I would have thrived!

 And I must finish at another time. The bell doth call me off.

SPEAK


I’m hearing the thunder
sounding like the bitter argumatic
voices in my lonely head
pounding on the walls
flashes of cloud-stricken light
leaves me breathless
and more foolish for it
still typing, plugged into the storm\
strike
      the
         keys
strike once more
echoes in the skylight
shattered tranquility of restless sleep
broken dreams
becoming the tree
face skyward in the swirling night
feel the weightless release
my burning bark
aglow in flame
lighting the night
apocolyptic horizon
endurance
stubborn pride to roots and leaves
rain shall not extinguish
I shall not extinguish
you shall not whisper to me in the dark as I am darkened
fire rages
when lightning strikes
and you the muted thunder