lately you've been tan, suspicious for the winter

I've gotten a bit lazy, my apologies.  But this summer has been so incredibly spectacular-- if you disregard the manboy who has convinced himself that i am madly in love with him and thus took it upon himself to "convince" me that we should be "just friends,"  Mama X's attempts to prepare me for marriage through forced vacuuming, dusting, and scrubbing  of outdoor pillows with toothbrushes,  and the typical summer heat here.

No more negative nancy, damn i hate myself.

A few days ago a group of us were lazily lyring around my front porch when we were violently attacked by a shot of water and marshmallows.  seems B.M. and S.J. (the long names just had to go) had broken into my neighbors yard, jumped the fence, and armed with an 11year olds arsenal, bombarded my home.  The bloodiest water fight of all time ensued, and the boys ended up locked in my basement while H.A. W.S. and S.T. poured water at them through the cracks in the doors.  My poor laptop narrowly avoided death, but W.S. sacrificed her newly straightened hair to save my precious.  True love, right there.

A few days later we were left watergun-less, and thus without any relief from the heat.  H.A. and S.T. kidnapped me and together we broke into S.T.'s boyfriends Potomac mansion, where the most wonderful pool ever awaited us.  Of course, i would never break into a normal neighborhood pool-- only the pools of the rich and clueless would suit our purposes.  Much random wandering and eating later, i was stuck in the metro, begging for change so i could eventually get home.

i need a car.  preferably this one.

i'm going to stop myself before i become one of those blogs that recount every fucking second of the miserable slobs existence.  Unfortunately, i may be  one of those miserable slobs, so i'm not sure what i should be writing about instead, but i shall eventually figure it out.

Listening to: We're Not Gonna Take It - Twisted Sister

Vote!

Doc Martens having a contest for a new design and since I don't sleep i was prowling through the gallery.... and i adore these. could never pull of DMs, but someone else has to vote and get these.

I'd Bombard Your Alamo

I've finally figured out how to post mp3s, so maybe this will become less of a teenageanst blog and more of a useful music outlet.  i highly doubt it.   Anyways, i managed to survive the SAT IIs, and figuring that i was finally done with all my standardized tests (until i take my LSATs, which has become inevitable now that my entire family has decided that i must be become a corporate lawyer.  seriously guys, i'm not that huge of a bitch), i arrived home in a state of jubilation, itching to burn all my notebooks--until I saw this.

My flashcards, illuminated and glowing with the light of my skylight.  Could it be a sign from god? i tried really hard, but just couldn't find Mary's face.  however, i have visited a a church in Santa Fe that claims to be the site of a miracle simply because the priest once saw a light on the floor, perhaps i deserve an equal status.  Besides, it would make a seriously snazzy postcard.   

On another note, junior year is finished (finally), and i'm feeling pathetically nostalgic.  all my friends are at a graduation party till four, so i'm stuck lazing around my house, flicking through my iphoto gallery.  i really should get these printed, since somehow i feel like frantically clicking the arrow keys doesn't have the same feeling as flipping through a photo album.  There are several hundred snapshots of prom, and sorting through them is wonderful.  in all my glorious vanity, it doesn't pain me much to admit this-- for a bunch of faux-indie kids, we had a damn attractive limo.  our limo couldn't fit down the street, so were forced to have the now-necessary bag search in the middle of a perpendicular road.  Nico seemed nice, but appeared to have a bizarre fear of chewing gum and shoes, going so far as to loudly declare "No gum.  If i catch you, you're out.  Respect me, respect the limo."  he did a pretty shitty job searching bags, although the presence of oh, every teacher ever prevented foul play.  for the socially impaired such as myself, its excruciatingly painful to dance under the judgmental eyes of all our 20-something year old teachers..... especially when they then begin dancing far better than any of the kids themselves. 

oh, the embarrassing flashbacks just hit me.  i can't dance, what the fuck was i doing? how many feet did i mutilate? 

thank god i don't have to face these people till september.

in parting, here's part of my AP US/SAT II  review playlist, the title's above. 

The History of Excuses - Bishop Allen

Girl in the War - Josh Ritter

Master and Slave - Cherry Poppin' Daddies

Elvis- These New Puritans

Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) - The Decemberists

American Life- Madonna

Paragraph President - Blackalicious

Revolution - The Beatles

See America Right - the Mountain Goats

Uncle Sam Goddam - Brother Ali

Funk Terrorist- Metermaids and Sentence

the choices made sense in my head, promise. 

The Smartest Kid With Down Syndrome

shit damn i'm a huge bumbling idiot.  i sort of would like to go to college (an accredited college, please) and that means that i just slightly have to ace my SAT subject tests.

but oh, wait!

i went to prom last night, didn't sleep much, stalked photos of prom all day and now am writing on this bog instead of studying.

hopefully the literature and US history exams won't be that bad...those are my best subjects? usually? and i'm not that stupid all the time? so many question marks?

DAMN IT. i'm going to bed.

Listening to: Cheap and Cheerful (The Videoband Redistortion) - The kills

I'm gonna quit these rambling days

i wouldn't be this insane if it weren't for "Circe" and her soul of never-ending evil.   Proma hurts my head, and now geekcamps rocky.  Personally, i don't see what possible issue they could have with me staying the five interim days on the dartmouth campus unsupervised, but my opinion doesn't seem to be appreciated.  its the first week of summer, and i've already managed to get grounded, break my cell phone, accidently ditch fifteen people, accidently induce bodily harm, and develop a friendship with a questionably platonic status.  even when i attempt to become zen, my life devolves into hyperbole.  but i cut my hair.  its now near normal length...i've moved away from dirty yuppie to dirty hippie territory.  one day, who knows, maybe i'll be welcome at the  DAR-- but that would take a lot marrying. 

I wish i were him { <== },  although the blue guy is sexy too.   Its raining so my windows are closed, making my room a blistering 300degrees celsius (573 Kelvin! huzzah for chemistry) The raindrops are almost tape-worthy, perhaps i'll tap into my inner yogi and pretend this is a hot yoga studio.  but that implies burning calories and moving, and i'm far too lazy for that.  Tornado watch (here? this isn't kansas) and the lightening seems to be destroying powerlines across the region, so i'm gonna save my laptop battery for the imminent emergency and quit the whining.

listening to: the littlest birds- the be good tanyas 

Make it end

"Narcissa" makes me homicidal, and i'm abusing breathing exercises in a vain attempt to prevent myself from composing an angsty, immature, repulsive little rant.

As if that would work.  To spare the world, i'm simply going to redirect my anger towards a more, erhm, inanimate object: the kitten heel.

what the fuck.  really.  i've been searching for prom shoes for weeks and the kitten heel makes me want to cram the hideous, usually rhinestone studded, repulsive excuse for footwear up someone's nostrils. What purpose do these shoes possibly serve? They don't look dressy or classy-- they look like you robbed a small child  with sparkly butterflies in her hair.  They make legs look stumpy, ankles thick, and immediately imply that the wearer secretly has genital warts. Worse, they manage (magically?)  to impair ones ability to walk more than a higher, and thus perfectly acceptable, heel would do.  Don't like heels?I know, its shocking, but turns out there are these things called (wait for it...) flats.  If Mussolini were a shoe, he would be a kitten heel.  Who the fuck thought it was a good idea?  Did they step in gum while wearing  flats and then decided the new height somehow made them look better?  Were they born with some deformity that made them only able to balance at a heigh approximately 0.00078 cm above the ground? Do they have fully functioning retinas? 

That person should be slaughtered and buried in a shallow unmarked grave. 

go back to your 7th grade dance.  i'd prefer the smackers lipgloss over this crap. 

Listening to: If You Hate Your Friends You're Not Alone- Pretty Girls Make Graves

I'm set free to find a new illusion

I've finally shed the shackles of junior year (near alliteration, yes?)  and can frolick to my hearts delight.  Unfortunately, I leave for geek-camp in 14 days, so this frolicking will have to be cut short.  

My exam began at one, so i wisely began studying yesterday.  Another bit of genius struck me, and I spent the time alternating between repeated viewings of Eagle vs. Shark (see below) and obsessive facebooking with my friend "Ayn."   Today: Woke up an hour late, stumbled to school in cutoffs that made my thighs jiggle unattractively, and verbally abused every poor soul that crossed my path.

  Eventually found my friends and a lovely room filled to the brim with beautiful black rolling chairs, and set to work.  I got through maybe two of the twenty-two tenses before declaring defeat, and we left for thai. Returned, and promptly walked into the wrong exam room.  The proctor didn't notice, or decided not to tell me, until i had already worked for twenty minutes, at which point that fucking bitch (she pretends to not speak english, but i know she does as i've seen her speaking accentless out of school)  began yelling, kicked me out, and sent me to the other room.  Where my real teacher (ya know, the one who i adore and happens to be writing my college rec) told me I was a cheating liar who had severely disappointed him.  Supposedly i am not one who makes such mistakes, and he "no longer trusted me." When i attempted to finish the test but couldn't see the questions through the tears, he handed me chocolate, so i assume he realized thats theres no fucking way i could have been cheating from the front row of another Spanish IV class.  

Luckily, my favorite tense ever was alll ovah that shit.  As were an abnormal number of 'b' solutions. 

Spent the next few hours eating my feelings with friends, then went home. "Gaston" barged in with an absurd history SAT II, and we, uh, studied, for a few hours.  Then went for a run with the twin and "Hellen" and other festivities until got dragged home.

Theres a message on my facebook.  I'm avoiding opening it.  Such a huge fucking coward .  But look at this pretty picture from paddleboating last year.  

p.s. i'm officially in a relationshop with this gal, and this shall be our baby as soon as we kidnap it.  now i just have to find a way to stop liking boys and switch teams and my life will be perfect. 

p.p.s. i only recently learned its not p.s.s.. if i'm wrong i shall throw myself out the window.

listening to: I'm Set Free- Velvet Underground

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I am truly devestated.  Look at him...what a stud.   Yves Saint Laurent, you shall be missed. 

All One Needs is Spanglish

I'm totally (totes?) not feeling this whole spanish-exam-studying thing.  And to make matters worse I can't go on IM, facebook, gmail or turn on my phone since I'm very carefully ignoring someone.  To make myself feel less like an uber bitch, I, in all my genius, decided that the perfect plan would not be to blatantly ignore but rather avoid....thus the blame is shifted away from me and towards him! Its his fault he couldn't think of a more creative way to contact me, duh.  

Great opening post, I know.  Now every reader (ha, as if theres more than one) is given a glimpse  of my neurosis.  Shit damn, i should get therapy, or a few oprah books.  But i can't stand the woman, why the fuck is her mouth so large and white?

My new favorite tense (my perfect subjunctive) beckons, and I guess I should go study.  But i still find it suspicious that we keep being forced to learn verbs such as "to squash" or "to drown."  Just cause theres some shit going down in Columbia doesn't mean we're all  violent freaks, you dirty bigots.  Go back to playing squash.

listening to: Diamond Hipster Boy - Washington Social Club