My mom flipped a bitch on me at the last minute and refused to buy me the materials necessary to become a Pichu for Halloween. Thus, NINJA TURTLE:
Sort of.
Go me. <3
- Location:Living Room of Justice
- Mood:
restless - Music:Bright Lights - Matchbox Twenty
I'd like to think that gives me an excuse.
So here's a rant for all of you: My mother pulling me out of school right before my senior year. Or trying to, if I don't fight like all fucking hell for it. Basically we've gone pretty much broke, and my mom doesn't see the purpose in scrounging every last cent of money for one more year if I only maintain a 3.4 average and "continue to disrespect her".
Now, I'll be the first to admit that my school is DISGUSTINGLY expensive. Like, it's on par with some of the lower-end college tuitions. But after three years of attendence it's become my home, and the people there are my family. And the campus, the people, and the experiences make it worth every overpriced dollar we spend on it. That school honestly means absolutely everything to me.
I'll also be the first to admit that I'm not exactly docile and complacent when it comes to my mother. I argue. It's what I do. I learned it from her, for God's sake. But what I consider arguing a point is my mother's idea of extreme disrespect and purposeful rudeness.
Yes, she is Chinese, thank you for asking.
And that's not to say I hate her. I really, REALLY don't, which is a common misconception. I just think that sometimes she crosses the line, takes things the wrong way, etc. I know she's trying to do what's best for me, but when we don't agree my opinion becomes entirely unimportant. We're both the most stubborn people I've ever met, and that doesn't really help our already kind of crappy situation.
Anyways, I realize that my GPA isn't exactly stellar. But you really have to take into consideration that when it comes to academics, my school is a big, scary, STD-riddled jail rapist and I'm a scrawny piece of fresh meat to prey upon. I know when my ass is getting handed to me, and it happens pretty consistantly there. And honestly, I'm one of those people who doesn't hold grades in high priority. I'm not saying this as a cop-out, really. It's not that I CAN'T attain a 3.75 or above. If I actually put in the effort, I know I could. I'm smart, and I won't deny this. However, that doesn't change the fact that I'd rather contemplate a story idea than write out Latin translation, or work doubly hard on edits for Folio, my school's art and literary magazine, instead of doing tedious math problems. So considering who I am and where I got to school, a 3.4 is decent.
Speaking of Folio, I'm supposed to be Editor of Content for the magazine next year. I'm all lined up to be editor of the Arts and Entertainment section of my school newspaper, and I landed a position as commissioner of Love Grams for Key Club. Also, I've committed myself to being Girls Varsity Basketball and Boys Varsity Volleyball manager. There is SO MUCH I've invested myself in next year, and I couldn't bear to have that taken away from me.
So I'm going to fight this. I already went and bawled my eyes out to my school dean (ON MY BIRTHDAY, NO LESS), telling her that I knew that Financial Aid forms were due over two months ago, but my mom had thrown ours away because she'd decided after she'd re-enrolled me that she had no intention of sending me back to my school, so could she please, please, PLEASE help me figure out a way to come back next year?
I have a meeting with my dean and my best friend Martini tomorrow. We're going to brainstorm plans to appease my mother and somehow come up with enough money to send me back. And I hope to God it works, because I honestly can't bear to think of the alternative.
The alternative being the school down my street, where a kid just got shanked and bled to death a few weeks ago. And I mean, in all honesty, I'm the type of person who WOULD get shanked. I know better than anyone else that sometimes I just don't know when to shut my bitchy, sarcastic, opinionated mouth. So that might not be such a good idea.
If anything, this whole situation is teaching me to be much more independent.
Martini wants to somehow thrust me into the modeling business in hopes that we could both make some extra money, and I've applied for four different jobs. I have no idea if any of them will work out, but I'm trying. Attaining my license has gone from goal to obsession in my brain. I'm opening a checking account on Monday now that I've turned seventeen, and I just got a couple pairs of
That last bit wasn't really stating any kind of independence, I just really love those shorts. They're fragging adorable.
All things considered, my birthday (6/6) went over rather well. I mean, my mom were I are still defrosting since our blowup fight the night before, but still. And I did cry a whole shitload for like an hour after the final because I freaked out when I talked to my dean about the whole Financial Aid/I Might Not Be Coming Back thing, but still.
One of my best friends, Ireland, sliced a pineapple up into seventen pieces and put a candle in each one instead of getting me a cake. It was quite possibly the cutest, most perfect thing I've ever seen. She also somehow got most of the Senior Patio to sing to me, and I kind of started realizing right then how many amazing friends I have. I mean, I've always known, but still. I was totally embarassed but I truly loved everyone for beint there. One of my other best friends, Cheerleader, dragged me off to Old Town and Paseo where we were adventuring and shopping for four hours (white shorts, anyone? Plus comic books!). KMac is taking me to some surprise thing next Friday. One of my teachers, Frost, told me I got a 99% on my Statistics final.
Yeah, I was shocked too.
Another friend, Sonic, is taking me out for lunch tomorrow to celebrate. My dad gave me five hundred Amazon dollars which I blew on an XBOX 360 and a few games, along with some other clothes and a blue Mario mushroom cell phone charm.
I never realized a birthday could get so noticed until facebook came along. I got like 27 wall-posts telling me happy birthday, some from people who I haven't talked to in three years. I'm not even kidding.
Overall, it was nice.
As of this morning (fucking SAT IIs...), I'm officially free from all testing and stress until this coming September. That's it, I've done it, I'm a senior now. A senior on summer vacation.And I plan to make the most of it. I already have a million and one things to do, starting with a graduation party I'm attending tonight and some good old Fugitive tomorrow night before we have to see Ireland off cause she's leaving to spend six weeks in, well, Ireland. I have train and beach things going on with Martini on the twentieth and the meeting with her and the dean on Monday. My mom's making me go back to Tae Kwan Do for my Black Belt, as well as sending me to some place to learn Mandarin.
I.
NEED.
MY.
LICENSE.
I plan to clean my house extensively and play video games even more extensively. I hope to hold a job at either Cold Stone Creamery, Jamba Juice, Vromans Bookstore, or Barnes and Noble. I'm going on a cruise to Alaska the last week of August with my one of my best friends outside of school, Poki. We get our own state room. Parent-free. I'm going to have to work my ass off this summer to improve my relationship with my mother. Cheerleader and I plan on having at least two nights a month where we say we're sleeping over at each other's houses and instead we'll camp out in her car and party all night.
It's Summer of '08. Let's make it a good one.
- Location:Living Room of Justice
- Mood:
anxious - Music:Just Like a Pill - Pink
I manage for boys volleyball at my high school, mostly because I don't actually possess the coordination to actually play the sport myself.
This whole managing thing I do started last year, when I was offered a get-out-of-PE-free card in exchange for keeping book (essentially, marking which players were played, what kinds of points they made, and keeping track of fouls, which can often be more complicated then it sounds, especially when they make you color all those stupid starter triangles) for the girls basketball team. I accepted without hesitation, desperate to ditch PE (being the athletically challenged individual that I am) and opting for more free periods to do the homework and studying I never seemed to feel like doing the night before.
When I first began managing, my knowledge of basketball was practically nonexistent; I basically knew that you could make two pointers, three pointers, free throws, and there was something called a lay-up but I wasn't quite sure what such a maneuver entailed. Eventually, though, I'm proud to say I mastered the art of managing for a basketball team, and maybe even fully understood one whole sport by the end of the season. Needless to say, this is a major accomplishment for someone like me. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I came back this year to manage for girls basketball again, even though PE was no longer a torture chamber subject I was forced to endure as a junior. And when Sean, the boys volleyball coach, and a close friend named KMac both approached me about managing for Boys Volleyball, I accepted without a second thought. I knew less about volleyball coming into this season then I did about basketball when I started managing for the girls as a sophomore, but I was willing to learn.
Siege on Spiketown
Last night's game...was heartbreaking. Bottle crushing. Soul shattering.
The up ref was literally BLIND. I wanted to walk up to her at the end of the game, hand her my glasses, and say "You need these more than I do." They called EVERYTHING on us, including stuff we BLATANTLY didn't do. She swore up and down that DW had a touch, when EVERYONE saw that the ball had literally been a FOOT away from his hand. And, of course, NOTHING was called on the other team. Their setter would literally THROW the ball forward when he tipped, and they NEVER CALLED IT. They had an OBVIOUS under, but because it "wasn't relevant to the play that got the point", they didn't consider it a fault.
KMac and I literally crushed and destroyed three water bottles in frustration. The girls keeping score (who were RETARDED, at the very least) thought we were insane. And the WHOLE other team was COMPLETELY ridiculous. Every time we missed a serve, they were all yelling "WEAKSAUCE".
...
WEAKSAUCE?
Um.
...
REALLY?
If anything, they fail miserably at insults.
And then, of course, there was the guy sitting next to me at the table who pilfered KMac's seat because he needed a place to put his laptop. He works at the San Gabriel Valley News, we believe. Though he was appreciative of my venomous comments about the other team, I'm still convinced that this man was Satan. The jackass wrote our defeat for his news piece at the end of the first set. ONE set, and he'd already determined that we were playing our "worst game of the season" and that Salesian was "on its way to victory at semi-finals". It's not over 'til it's over, you stupid shit, even if you did end up being right.
KMac and I have every intention of purchasing as many copies of the San Gabriel Valley News with his article of that game in it and burning them with our Chem Teacher/Future Assassin, Dr. K.
I think one of the most awful things about that game was the very real possibility that, had our refs not been so terrible, we could've won the match, or at the very least taken them to five sets. The fact that there was a chance for us given only slightly different circumstances just makes the feeling all the more miserable.
The aftermath was the worst. Seeing the boys cry, those douchebaggy, arrogant, egotistical, prick-esque, toolish guys...just broke something inside of me. There's something so wrong about the images I keep seeing in my head. And it hurts to remember. I don't even feel justified for feeling as morose over this as I do; I was the one person on the team, player, manager, coach, or otherwise, who didn't cry. It's almost ironic, considering that I can pretty much cry over everything else in the world. But as I drove home on the bus, and eventually in my car, this sinking feeling inside of me just kept getting worse and worse, and it took me a whole night of contemplation to be able to put all of my feelings about this into words.
And I meant every last one of those descriptive adjectives of the volleyball boys with all the love in my heart.
Quotes
"Um...Jewish schools are...not very good schools." (TG)
"Having a Toolface." (KM/AS)
"How did I get here, Sean? How did I get here?" (DW)
"Creeper, you are such a creep job." (PD)
"SEXUAL ASSULT." (DW)
"Do you think he noticed?"
"Ohmigod, no, he totally didn't notice."
"What, notice you two drooling over Toolface without his shirt on?"
"...Shit." (AS/KM/CM)
"Help me! I'm in his pants! You just pushed me into Tower's pants." (AS)
"Arrowhead's setter (#1) is rediculously hot. Yes."
"Mmm..." (Book Quote - Arrowhead)
"69! 69! Dyslexic 69! 169!" (KM/AS)
"Shea screwed up a little bit...a lot...shh..."
"Because Ireland took Cheerleader's keys! I WAS BEING A GOOD FRIEND, DAMMIT!"
"KMac saved the day!" (Book Quote)
"Take me to Spiketown, Reed. Take me there!" (PD)
"Inside of her all up in there."
"Vagina?"
"That." (AS/KM)
"That's the 6 to my 9!" (AK)
"1. Sushi doesn't screw up when KMac isn't there to distract her. 2. The Setter was a FLAMING ASS. Like, an ass ON FIRE. 3. No hot boys, wtf." (Book Quote - Pacific Lutheran)
"Then he moved it, and suddenly it was all up in my crotch!" (KM)
"Stop touching me." (DW)
"Creeper, creeper, creeper!!"
"...and of course Barbie goes right over to him..."
"PENETRATE!" (GT)
"Who are we talking about?"
"Douchebag face over there."
"Number 17."
"Oh, you mean the one who tried to gain access to Spiketown and was denied?" (PD/AS/KM)
"KMac + Sushi = MANLY." (Book Quote - Chadwick)
"He just took it right in the face." (DW)
"It was hot."
"Yeah, smoke inhalation kills." (AS/KM)
"It's connection, Sean; you can't break that!" (AK)
"The thicker one! Squeeze it!" (AS)
"You're dripping on me!" (KM)
"Breakin' my balls, Sean. Breakin' my balls." (PD)
"I HATE YOU WITH A FIERY, BURNING PASSION, SMELLY UMIPRE MAN. Also, you fail at life. Entirely."
"All boys on SF team think Sushi is a babe."
"Hot Boy of the Game: #32. Honorary Hot Boys: #13 and #22 (Boy Who Can't Do Libero Tracking)"
"Old man ref = Nice. Smelly Man Ref (Peruvian Man) still fails. It is consistant. Like his stench."
(Book Quote - St. Francis)
"AWKWARD CHRIS." (KM/AS)
"I'm loving the ass crack, Turo." (PD)
"Honorary Hot Boy: Toolface."
"Honorary Hot Boy: Toolface (again)."
"Honorary Hot Boy: Toolface (forevermore)." (Book Quote)
"So, I know you're worried about guarding your virginity, and all that, and I'd like you to know that you're doing a great job so far - and I just want to reassure you that your virginity is not going anywhere! I know you've heard that high school is full of sex-driven psychos, but I'm here to tell you that you don't have to worry...over the next four years I can assure you that you will be getting NO ass WHATSOEVER. Maybe you might be worried that alcohol will be a stimulant for losing your virginity, but I'm here to tell you that it's okay, you won't ever be invited to any parties where that will be a problem for you. In fact, keep up the good work and you'll be a virgin until you die! Exciting, right?? A nice, boring sexless life is all you're headed for! So don't worry, it's going to be okay!" (AS - The Famous Virginity Speech)
"What're the chances we could light him and the up ref on fire and claim it was an accident?" (KM/AS)
"It's just physics, ref. Really, it's basic physics." (SB)
"KNOCK ON WOOD." (KM/AS)
The End
Granted, the book was considerably more complicated for volleyball than basketball, and sometimes I had to take on roles that I really didn't want to, and never would again (ahem, LINES). Even so, there were a million highlights to managing the boys volleyball team: Chilling with KMac and another close friend who was on the team, Noftle. Figuring out how to somehow actually understand what was going on in a game match, with a lot of help from KMac and Sean. Dancing stupidly to warm-up music. Getting so into the games that I probably would've gotten some kind of technical yellow card had I screamed profanities any louder. Bus rides with the guys. My nickname, Female Persuasion. Cheering louder than the entire fan section of the audience combined. Dissecting sexual songs. Every awkward moment Chris ever walked in on. Scoping out hot guys on opposing teams. Getting scoped out by hot guys on opposing teams (aka visual rape). Jokes about massive orgies with the entire pathetic, douchebaggy P.L. team with KMac. Writing notes in the book at the end of every game. Getting out of certain classes early to go to games. One, single, perfectly recorded match. Texting while libero tracking. Knocking on wood. Man grunts. Destroying water bottles. Book/Libero tracking pen OCD. Toolface: all the orgasmic times that came with his shirtlessness (even his misses were beautiful), and every all-up-in-his-area crotch grabbing moment. The quotes (above), the laughs (that never ended), the times (I won't easily forget). The significance of the tickets to, occupation, preservation, and careful guarding of SPIKETOWN.
KMAC.
SEAN.
NOFTLE.
THE BOYS.
All the love in the world to Boys Varsity Volleyball '08.
- Location:Living Room of Justice
- Mood: depressed
- Music:Let That Be Enough - Switchfoot
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