007

Today I went with Bobby (whom, for the remainder of this post, will be referred to as 'Bond') to rent his tux for prom. Bond was measured, tried on shirt and shoes, and ordered his tux in under an hour.

Now, clearly, I am neither annoyed by Bond (hi, sweetie!) nor the tux experience. What I am a bit perturbed by, however, is the fact that all males have this whole formal wear thing SO easy. If I had the luxury of going into a dress shop, giving them my measurements, telling them exactly what I wanted and then receiving everything in a nice little package...I would be ecstatic (and my self-esteem might also be spared, but that is another post).

Bond's prom attire quest involved one store, one Men's Warehouse Employee, one tape measure, one shoe, one shirt, one book of examples, and one salad stained shirt (oh, Momma Mills!).

My prom attire quest involved four malls, nine stores, cranky dress employees, Krystle (an upside, I like her), every highway in Virginia, shattered self-image (...hmm this mirror makes me look fat. Oh, wait, no..that's thanks to Ben and Jerry), Chick-fil-A (also a contributor) and an entire day.

Although it took an entire day and probably a couple years off of Krystle's life (what? it's not like I'm impossible to please or anything...), my dress is now safely tucked away in my closet.

I guess I can finally relax...you know, until June 6th when I am flailing around (limbs freely independent of my body) with bobby pins falling out of my head and fake nails breaking off trying to get ready.

As for Bond? Well, I assume he will get ready in the same amount of time it takes me to put my shoes on and still look wicked hott.

Sucks Flags

Being in an honorary, made-up position (thanks, Mikie) in the SCA is pretty sweet. Free dance tickets, planning events, and the endless range of crap that I am able to get away with. So you might think to yourself, "Amber, that sounds wicked awesome. In fact, that seems like a rip roarin' good time." AU CONTRAR! In attempts to PUNISH the SCA, Mrs. Sassy (crazy) & Mrs. Pitchford (clinically insane) took the courtesy of giving us free tickets to Six Flags.

At the first mention of this trip, I was pumped. Awwhh yeah, a free trip, no school, and a few chill people I get to hang out with all day. But of course, as you may have guessed, this trip has been classified as ball-crushing (Ryan Cummins) with a side of the hottest effing bus oh my god dude its like 50 million degrees (Jeff Schurott).

First things first. I arrive at school at 7 am for field trip. What time did we leave? 8. THIRTY. How many times could I have gone to Starbucks and back in 90 minutes? Like, atleast, 7.

Once on the bus, I estimate that I will go completely nuts within the hour.

My calculations were wrong. It only took about 20 minutes.

After a rousing competition of Name Game and five minute tour from Jeff (your DC tour guide. Well, maybe not DC. Actually, just this bridge near where he used to live. Thoroughly enjoyed however, kudos), I fell asleep. As did my left arm. Waking up to the feeling of pins and needles was only intensified by Nicky B's rendition of Coldplay's Viva La Vida.

Stepping off of the bus, I was glad to be off the metal, muggy, moving (alliteration!) deathtrap. I then realized it was raining. And for the first time I was extremely disappointed in my choice of Northface jacket (what kind of fleece jacket doesn't have a hood? Get real Northface, I need scalp coverage!!).

A couple hours later and you can now call me Ms. Frizzle (see: Magic Schoolbus). However, Creepy Jeff Ride Operator from Ohio did not seem to mind (STOP talking to me...it's called harassment, man).

I have yet to comment on the sheer GHETTO-ness that IS Six Flags.

Are you ready? Okay. Here we go.

P.S. If you are sensitive to partial Racism, do not continue reading..

1. Ride Operator telling me: "If yas dos what imz gonna tellz yaz ta dooz then yalls be finez!" ....check.

2. Ride Operator 2 doing "The Stanky Leg" ....check.

3. Sam's comment, "There aren't any white people on that ride right now." ...check.

4. Extreme 80's-esque comic book decor ...check.

5. Overhearing Ride Operator 3 saying, "The brakes are broken again." ...check (wait, WHAT?!).

6. Overhearing fellow park-go-ers singing "HALLE BAAARRRAAYYY..halle berry.." ...check.

The bottom line here, folks, is that if you ever plan of traveling to Six Flags...reconsider. The rides are probably broken. Or "stuck". Or the park personnel will verbally violate you indefinitely. Or you will pay $15 dollars for chicken tenders.

The light at the end of the tunnel was 5:15. We get to leave.

Queue DC traffic, Amber's short temper, a 90 degree bus, and some involuntary nose picking (Chase, he didn't touch your brain).

Nearly 5 hours later and I am back home. Crankier than ever. But, really, is that such a big surprise??

Thank God for Milano Cookies (props to Jeff's Momma).

Senioritis

I have severe Senioritis. And no, it does not fall under the category of "Amber's Obscure Medical Conditions"... However, my teachers are not letting my Senioritis run it's course. Things I have to do this week? Mentorship board, 500 word paper, FRQ (GET REAL, Mr. Olivo. The AP Exam is over. And FYI, I never cared about your class anyway), and of course the never-ending, ridiculous amount of English prose I am supposed to be reading. Mr. Williams, please take note when I say, "You are so very old that you may very well have peer edited Mr. Shakespeare's greatest works."

I have waited four years for my time. My time to sit back, relax, and take endless naps in Gov't (which Mr. Levi has gladly allowed, mad props to your mad chillaxin skillz). Hearing the Freshmen, Sophomores, and Juniors squuuueeeeeee about watching Marley and Me and Slumdog Millionaire really makes me cringe. Actually, not even hearing them. Just the sight of them. Have you kids ever heard of Public Display of Affection? OH! Of course you have because you're making babies on my locker. ShooSH!! And really, do I need to push any more of you day after day before you get the point that, YOU are in my way. And everybody elses for that matter. Skedaddle!!

...Okay, despite the fact that I am rarely AT school, the time that I am there I would like to spend either a) watching a new DVD release b) shooting the breeze with the newly insane Nazi-esque librarians or c) letting my fellow classmates know just how VERY glad I will not be seeing them anymore once June 17th comes (and OH PS you guys, I do NOT CARE that you didn't receive your 1 or 2 or 3, etc. And No, I will not cut out a 7 for you because you lost yours).

Never fear fellow slackers! For there is a cure for Senioritis. What is it? Forging your father's signature to get out of school. Everyday.

Fat "Guard" In A Little Suit

So the title of this post is a little spin-off of the memorable quote from Tommy Boy. Now, not only does the title pretty much sum up my feelings of my lifeguard uniform, but also gives some introduction to a small, somewhat chubzy, blonde-haired ball of menace. To describe this child it would be best to say that he is a combination of Dennis the Menace and a young Chris Farley.

To begin the list of Chris Farley Jr.'s antics, let me tell you that I foresee this child being a frequent visitor (much to my, and every Running Man resident's, dismay). Yesterday, this child single-handedly harassed three 17 year olds out of the pool. With Crayola Water Cannon in hand, he was unstoppable. Terrorizing every other child in the pool wasn't enough for CFJ, oh no. He decided to test his luck and try to spray me. Uhm, excuse me kid, can't you see that I am completely disinterested in you (lifeguard of the year, huh?). After minutes of death stare, Tommy Boy gets the idea and splashes away. Five minutes of daydreaming later (I mean, really, I am a shoo-in for that lifeguard award) and CFJ come back to inform me that "I cannot get out of the pool as easy in the deep end because.. because.. there is a step missing." (Apparently this child thinks that I am some sort of Mason or something). Just as I am about to tell this child that he probably shouldn't even be in the deep end to begin with, his mother calls him to get out of the pool. HOORAH! ...wait, what did his mom say?

"Tommy, get out of the pool, we're going home!"

Yeah, Little Tommy Boy's name is ACTUALLY Tommy.

Welcome!!

Hi everyone! Clearly the name of this blog lends itself to posts about what I feel are the injustices, inadequacies, and annoyances in everyday life. Being (stuck) in high school, I come into contact with the most incompetent, self-centered, egotistical individuals in existence (Well, maybe not existence, but I sometimes over-exaggerate...okay, ALWAYS). Surrounded by people such as these provides not only constant entertainment, but also some pretty outrageous anecdotes. And just where will these anecdotes end up? Why on this very page!!!... hopefully for your enjoyment, relation, and maybe a little empathy.