an entry, at last.
First day of school was on Thursday - a half day, so it was relatively painless, but still something to be suffered through. I don’t seem to have classes with anybody I had classes with last year, and I have nearly no classes with anybody I would actually enjoy...classing with. o_0 I apologize for any incomprehensible moments in this post; I didn’t get much sleep last night.
Anyway, my schedule, in all it’s sucktastic glory:
AP Calculus AB - Coté
NOTES: Meh, this class seems like it could be worse. I mean, obviously it’s going to be hella hard and taxing and ohgodi’mnotthinkingabouththat. But the teacher seems nice, and Maja is in this class with me, so I have moral support in math class for the first time ever.
American Literature - Rescigna
NOTES: I’d just like to point out-asking students to tell you their goals for the year as an introductory exercise is a bad idea. I don’t come to school with a goal for the year planned! I need time to think it through! I DON’T DEAL WELL UNDER PRESSURE. >_O I’m sitting with Jen Camp and Elinor in this class; they are both nice people. However, this class is also full of slackers. Oh god, why. I could have been in Ms. Sell’s class, but no...it sucks to be me.
Chemistry - Rush
NOTES: I like Dr. Rush. She’s nice. Sort of monotonous, but nice, and it’s not her fault that she seems less interested in the material than we are, because I know she is interested. HER ROOM HAS DRUGS IN THE WALLS, THOUGH. I’m serious, I start to feel like a dirt clod as soon as I walk in the door, and then I start to fall asleep, and being a sleeping dirt clod while you should be learning chemistry is not a good idea.
Latin III - Messinger
NOTES: I love Mr. Messinger, and love Latin significantly more than I have ever loved any other language, so of course this class is going to be fine. Despite the fact that I don’t remember a single Latin word. Or declension. Actually, what the hell is a declension? Save me, I’m screwed.
AP Biology - Gupta/Whatsernamethesubstitute.
NOTES: Kill me now.
U.S. History - Lober
NOTES: Drugs in the walls again. Not so much with the dirt-clod-ness, though, more of a cat-like transformation. ...okay, actually, just ignore that. I’m not worried about this class.
AP Language - Towers
NOTES: I wouldn’t know how this class is going to be, because we spent the first day playing whiffle ball. Our summer reading is not due for another two weeks or so; goddamn you, Ms. Towers, I worked on that WHILE I WAS IN AUSTRALIA. I COULD HAVE HAD A NICE VACATION BUT NO YOU MADE ME WORK AND NOW IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER. Oh well. As Phil would say, we’ll all be dead in 50 years anyway.
I hope everybody notes just how CRAPPY this schedule is. It sucks. There is no other way to describe the complete and utter assholic nature of this thing. It’s like a beast. An evil beast, with teeth and claws and all that shit. A mad, hairy beast of a schedule, of which not even a paw is shared with some kind and loving soul who might rescue me from my teenage cesspit. Alas. I really need to angst less.
My schoolbag this year is orange, which was some comfort throughout the hard, often harrowing four hours of Thursday’s school day.
Crush-boy (he’s still crush-boy, because I haven’t talked to him yet. Status subject to change.) cut all of his hair off over the summer. I am, as of yet, neither horrified or delighted, merely shocked. HIS HAIR. Crush-boy! Phil will not have sex with you anymore!
No, don’t be so sad. It’s okay. He’s very particular. Please, seriously, don’t be upset, he would probably do you anyway.
I have an excellent locker this year, though; it’s on the end of a row, so I won’t be squished in between people. Oooooh, I’m telling you, this locker makes up for EVERYTHING.
Yay! Phil braved the horrors of public transportation for this trip, and Sarah...well, Sarah braved Phil’s incompetence at dealing with public transportation.
They came down on the 10:21 train from Philadelphia, and my mom and I picked them up at the station. Phil told me not to choke him. It was all very emotional.
We went back to my house, where we were met at the door by my dog (a psycho killer!) and my brother (just psycho!), who I had to introduce to Sarah and Phil. I’m sorry, guys, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all you. You know that. Anyway, I took them up to my room-miraculously CLEAN, thanks to all of my hard work in the late hours of the night-and we hung around up there for awhile. I gave Phil my copy of Beowulf, but he didn’t take it with him today. SUCKS TO BE YOU, PHIL! You’re missing out on the, uh, greatness that is Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf.
We had lunch-subs, yay, which we ate outside. It was very nice, and also a little surreal, because it’s been a long time...well, at least two months-ish since I’ve seen Sarah and Phil (I need to start referring to them collectively...Pharah. Or Sill. I sort of like Pharah. Okay, that works.) As I was saying, it had been a long time since I’d seen Pharah, and I was overjoyed to be in their presence again. *dances*
After lunch, Pharah and I went for a nature walk of sorts-our goal was to identify poison ivy wherever we could! And to find ancient-but-actually-futuristic ruins! And to swing on tire swings and avoid HUMONGOUS RED SPIDERS, that thing was MONSTROUS. And we did manage to avoid poison ivy, for the most part, thanks to Phil’s simple rule:
ALLIE: What’s that rule about poison ivy? Leaves of three, let it be, something something I don’t know?
PHIL: If it has three leaves, avoid it; if it has four leaves, smoke it.
We didn’t find any with four leaves. I was disappointed; frankly, I think we all were.
But soon, we would forget our disappointment at missing out on opportunities to be pot-heads in my backyard. This is because we continued on to Borders, where we had chai. So, here’s the thing: chai is a drug in and of itself. Phil had Bali Hai Chai, which caused him to drift off into a drug-induced state, and I had Iced Chai, and Sarah had hot chocolate, so any druggie behavior associated with her must have been the result of fumes.
Borders was having a buy three, get one free deal with CDs. In a gleeful attempt to spend all of our money, we decided to collectively take advantage of the deal and then burn the CDs on my computer. We mentioned this in front of the music salesman and then realized our error: THIS ACTIVITY IS ILLEGAL.
PHIL: We can just burn them!
ALLIE: Yeah!
SALES REP: *EVIL GLARE*
PHIL: Not that we would ever actually do that.
ALLIE and SARAH: *keel over from laughing too hard*
We ended up buying these CDs:
Sex Pistols - Never mind the bollocks, here’s the Sex Pistols. (which Phil accidentally read as ‘never mind the bollocks, here’s sex’. Yeah, wishful thinking on his part.)
Wilco - Yankee hotel" STYLE="text-decoration: none; border-bottom: medium solid green;" HREF="http://search.targetwords.com/u.search?x=5977|1||||hotels|AA1VDw">Hotel Foxtrot (Phil claims Rolling Stone called it the ‘greatest American album’, or something like that. I disagree-THIS CD IS FREAKY. Too much creaking! Do not listen to it at three in the morning, I am warning you.)
Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand (we’ve heard so much about the sexiness of Michael, we just couldn’t resist)
Avenue Q (ALLIE IS THE HAPPIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD. I’ve listened to this soundtrack at least three times now; it was happy-making to begin with, and I am now in lovelovelove with it, you have no idea. ‘It Sucks To Be Me’...wait, I was going to list all of the songs I like and then I realized that I can’t, because I love them all.)
A cool assortment. Sarah also bought a book of M.C. Escher drawings, which is totally rad, and worthy of...buying. Ouch, language deterioration. It burns.
We headed home after spending three-ish hours at Borders, and went down to the basement, because Phil wanted his CDs burned. Why? Because Phil is greedy and insulting. The two are related because they are his main flaws. Along with being needy. He has, like, a trilogy of flaws. But he also has digginny, so I’m sure he’ll make it through life relatively unscathed. Anyway, we lounged in my basement, burning CDs and listening to Weezer; the lyrics to ‘Hash Pipe’ are obscene and I am never listening to that song again because o_0 Actually, I probably will. But they are still obscene, you can’t change that. Our time in the basement can be summed up like this:
In the [basement] I feel safe
No one cares about my ways
In the [basement]
Where I belong
No one hears me sing this song
In the [basement]
It was mellow, and we danced to ‘Blister in the Sun’. Yay. Also, I tried to tell Phil and Sarah that Robert Plant was the first person to observe cells, before realizing that no, Robert Plant was the guy from Led Zeppelin. Oh well. I was close.
Then-dinner! Which was lovely, and we ate that outside, as well. Yay. This was not actually when Phil mentioned this, but Phil did tell us, at some point, that he has decided that eating is overrated. Go Phil.
Then, as night, fell we moved on to BIGGER AND BETTER things, that is, The Breakfast Club! It was my first time seeing it, so I was very excited, because, uh, great American classic, or whatever. Probably greater than Wilco’s CD, anyway. John Bender, it has to be said, looks like Jameson when he has his sunglasses on, and should not have been allowed to hook up with Molly Ringwald because she was spoiled and petulant and should have been denied something for once in her life. Also, she didn’t kick him, which would have made her worthy of being his girlfriend. Poor nerd-boy, too. He didn’t get a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and his problem was presented in a bad light. Overall, though, I have to say I enjoyed The Breakfast Club.
Then we moved on to even bigger things...LABYRINTH! So, about Labyrinth: David Bowie is teh sex but not the sex. If you know what I mean. Jennifer Connelly wears good jeans. Yeah, and we mean good jeans. The little monster turning the tiles at the beginning definitely says, “your mother is a faggot”; we should know, because we listened to it multiple times. Shocking. Labyrinth is like an acid trip, or a dream, or both! and contains the makings of a truly disgusting apple joke. *dies*
We spent the rest of the night talking, something we all turned out to be good at. Talking and talking and talking. Phil let us know that come the revolution, there will be no clothes. Good to know! Many things were revealed that will hopefully never see the light of day. And finally, around four in the morning, we went to sleep.
We talked more the next morning, but that pretty much wraps things up. The next day Phil and Sarah were dropped off at their respective houses and I spent the rest of the day wandering around my house like a zombie. The end.
This entry is disgustingly long.
-- Allie
Anyway, my schedule, in all it’s sucktastic glory:
AP Calculus AB - Coté
NOTES: Meh, this class seems like it could be worse. I mean, obviously it’s going to be hella hard and taxing and ohgodi’mnotthinkingabouththat. But the teacher seems nice, and Maja is in this class with me, so I have moral support in math class for the first time ever.
American Literature - Rescigna
NOTES: I’d just like to point out-asking students to tell you their goals for the year as an introductory exercise is a bad idea. I don’t come to school with a goal for the year planned! I need time to think it through! I DON’T DEAL WELL UNDER PRESSURE. >_O I’m sitting with Jen Camp and Elinor in this class; they are both nice people. However, this class is also full of slackers. Oh god, why. I could have been in Ms. Sell’s class, but no...it sucks to be me.
Chemistry - Rush
NOTES: I like Dr. Rush. She’s nice. Sort of monotonous, but nice, and it’s not her fault that she seems less interested in the material than we are, because I know she is interested. HER ROOM HAS DRUGS IN THE WALLS, THOUGH. I’m serious, I start to feel like a dirt clod as soon as I walk in the door, and then I start to fall asleep, and being a sleeping dirt clod while you should be learning chemistry is not a good idea.
Latin III - Messinger
NOTES: I love Mr. Messinger, and love Latin significantly more than I have ever loved any other language, so of course this class is going to be fine. Despite the fact that I don’t remember a single Latin word. Or declension. Actually, what the hell is a declension? Save me, I’m screwed.
AP Biology - Gupta/Whatsernamethesubstitute.
NOTES: Kill me now.
U.S. History - Lober
NOTES: Drugs in the walls again. Not so much with the dirt-clod-ness, though, more of a cat-like transformation. ...okay, actually, just ignore that. I’m not worried about this class.
AP Language - Towers
NOTES: I wouldn’t know how this class is going to be, because we spent the first day playing whiffle ball. Our summer reading is not due for another two weeks or so; goddamn you, Ms. Towers, I worked on that WHILE I WAS IN AUSTRALIA. I COULD HAVE HAD A NICE VACATION BUT NO YOU MADE ME WORK AND NOW IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER. Oh well. As Phil would say, we’ll all be dead in 50 years anyway.
I hope everybody notes just how CRAPPY this schedule is. It sucks. There is no other way to describe the complete and utter assholic nature of this thing. It’s like a beast. An evil beast, with teeth and claws and all that shit. A mad, hairy beast of a schedule, of which not even a paw is shared with some kind and loving soul who might rescue me from my teenage cesspit. Alas. I really need to angst less.
My schoolbag this year is orange, which was some comfort throughout the hard, often harrowing four hours of Thursday’s school day.
Crush-boy (he’s still crush-boy, because I haven’t talked to him yet. Status subject to change.) cut all of his hair off over the summer. I am, as of yet, neither horrified or delighted, merely shocked. HIS HAIR. Crush-boy! Phil will not have sex with you anymore!
No, don’t be so sad. It’s okay. He’s very particular. Please, seriously, don’t be upset, he would probably do you anyway.
I have an excellent locker this year, though; it’s on the end of a row, so I won’t be squished in between people. Oooooh, I’m telling you, this locker makes up for EVERYTHING.
Yay! Phil braved the horrors of public transportation for this trip, and Sarah...well, Sarah braved Phil’s incompetence at dealing with public transportation.
They came down on the 10:21 train from Philadelphia, and my mom and I picked them up at the station. Phil told me not to choke him. It was all very emotional.
We went back to my house, where we were met at the door by my dog (a psycho killer!) and my brother (just psycho!), who I had to introduce to Sarah and Phil. I’m sorry, guys, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all you. You know that. Anyway, I took them up to my room-miraculously CLEAN, thanks to all of my hard work in the late hours of the night-and we hung around up there for awhile. I gave Phil my copy of Beowulf, but he didn’t take it with him today. SUCKS TO BE YOU, PHIL! You’re missing out on the, uh, greatness that is Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf.
We had lunch-subs, yay, which we ate outside. It was very nice, and also a little surreal, because it’s been a long time...well, at least two months-ish since I’ve seen Sarah and Phil (I need to start referring to them collectively...Pharah. Or Sill. I sort of like Pharah. Okay, that works.) As I was saying, it had been a long time since I’d seen Pharah, and I was overjoyed to be in their presence again. *dances*
After lunch, Pharah and I went for a nature walk of sorts-our goal was to identify poison ivy wherever we could! And to find ancient-but-actually-futuristic ruins! And to swing on tire swings and avoid HUMONGOUS RED SPIDERS, that thing was MONSTROUS. And we did manage to avoid poison ivy, for the most part, thanks to Phil’s simple rule:
ALLIE: What’s that rule about poison ivy? Leaves of three, let it be, something something I don’t know?
PHIL: If it has three leaves, avoid it; if it has four leaves, smoke it.
We didn’t find any with four leaves. I was disappointed; frankly, I think we all were.
But soon, we would forget our disappointment at missing out on opportunities to be pot-heads in my backyard. This is because we continued on to Borders, where we had chai. So, here’s the thing: chai is a drug in and of itself. Phil had Bali Hai Chai, which caused him to drift off into a drug-induced state, and I had Iced Chai, and Sarah had hot chocolate, so any druggie behavior associated with her must have been the result of fumes.
Borders was having a buy three, get one free deal with CDs. In a gleeful attempt to spend all of our money, we decided to collectively take advantage of the deal and then burn the CDs on my computer. We mentioned this in front of the music salesman and then realized our error: THIS ACTIVITY IS ILLEGAL.
PHIL: We can just burn them!
ALLIE: Yeah!
SALES REP: *EVIL GLARE*
PHIL: Not that we would ever actually do that.
ALLIE and SARAH: *keel over from laughing too hard*
We ended up buying these CDs:
Sex Pistols - Never mind the bollocks, here’s the Sex Pistols. (which Phil accidentally read as ‘never mind the bollocks, here’s sex’. Yeah, wishful thinking on his part.)
Wilco - Yankee hotel" STYLE="text-decoration: none; border-bottom: medium solid green;" HREF="http://search.targetwords.com/u.search?x=5977|1||||hotels|AA1VDw">Hotel Foxtrot (Phil claims Rolling Stone called it the ‘greatest American album’, or something like that. I disagree-THIS CD IS FREAKY. Too much creaking! Do not listen to it at three in the morning, I am warning you.)
Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand (we’ve heard so much about the sexiness of Michael, we just couldn’t resist)
Avenue Q (ALLIE IS THE HAPPIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD. I’ve listened to this soundtrack at least three times now; it was happy-making to begin with, and I am now in lovelovelove with it, you have no idea. ‘It Sucks To Be Me’...wait, I was going to list all of the songs I like and then I realized that I can’t, because I love them all.)
A cool assortment. Sarah also bought a book of M.C. Escher drawings, which is totally rad, and worthy of...buying. Ouch, language deterioration. It burns.
We headed home after spending three-ish hours at Borders, and went down to the basement, because Phil wanted his CDs burned. Why? Because Phil is greedy and insulting. The two are related because they are his main flaws. Along with being needy. He has, like, a trilogy of flaws. But he also has digginny, so I’m sure he’ll make it through life relatively unscathed. Anyway, we lounged in my basement, burning CDs and listening to Weezer; the lyrics to ‘Hash Pipe’ are obscene and I am never listening to that song again because o_0 Actually, I probably will. But they are still obscene, you can’t change that. Our time in the basement can be summed up like this:
In the [basement] I feel safe
No one cares about my ways
In the [basement]
Where I belong
No one hears me sing this song
In the [basement]
It was mellow, and we danced to ‘Blister in the Sun’. Yay. Also, I tried to tell Phil and Sarah that Robert Plant was the first person to observe cells, before realizing that no, Robert Plant was the guy from Led Zeppelin. Oh well. I was close.
Then-dinner! Which was lovely, and we ate that outside, as well. Yay. This was not actually when Phil mentioned this, but Phil did tell us, at some point, that he has decided that eating is overrated. Go Phil.
Then, as night, fell we moved on to BIGGER AND BETTER things, that is, The Breakfast Club! It was my first time seeing it, so I was very excited, because, uh, great American classic, or whatever. Probably greater than Wilco’s CD, anyway. John Bender, it has to be said, looks like Jameson when he has his sunglasses on, and should not have been allowed to hook up with Molly Ringwald because she was spoiled and petulant and should have been denied something for once in her life. Also, she didn’t kick him, which would have made her worthy of being his girlfriend. Poor nerd-boy, too. He didn’t get a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and his problem was presented in a bad light. Overall, though, I have to say I enjoyed The Breakfast Club.
Then we moved on to even bigger things...LABYRINTH! So, about Labyrinth: David Bowie is teh sex but not the sex. If you know what I mean. Jennifer Connelly wears good jeans. Yeah, and we mean good jeans. The little monster turning the tiles at the beginning definitely says, “your mother is a faggot”; we should know, because we listened to it multiple times. Shocking. Labyrinth is like an acid trip, or a dream, or both! and contains the makings of a truly disgusting apple joke. *dies*
We spent the rest of the night talking, something we all turned out to be good at. Talking and talking and talking. Phil let us know that come the revolution, there will be no clothes. Good to know! Many things were revealed that will hopefully never see the light of day. And finally, around four in the morning, we went to sleep.
We talked more the next morning, but that pretty much wraps things up. The next day Phil and Sarah were dropped off at their respective houses and I spent the rest of the day wandering around my house like a zombie. The end.
This entry is disgustingly long.
-- Allie