All the Sleepy Ladies

Naturally, being a high school student, I am sleep deprived. Waking up at 6am for the past four years has really taken a toll on my sleep cycle and overall health. With no time to take naps and my incessant need to watch multiple reality shows on almost every night of the week, I can never find the time to squeeze in some extra Zzz's.
So, whenever the opportunity arrives for me to sleep in..I try to take advantage of it.
However, my family (and basic structure of my house), just never seem to get the memo.
On Friday night, Britni and I attempted to go to sleep around 1am. Relatively a pretty early and reasonable time to go to sleep on a weekend night. Our weary eyes and slurred speech both hinted at our exhaustion. Settling down in the bonus room, the house is quiet (for once) and the fan actually isn't making that annoying clicking sound.
But, there does seem to be a burglar downstairs. Or atleast Britni thinks so.
Being the same level of crazy at my Granny, Britni begins to peer out of the window down onto the driveway. For those of you who don't know, Britni is pretty blind (like myself). She had neither her contacts nor glasses so for all she knew, Steven's tiny (old), white (old), Toyota Corolla was a ginormous polar bear (what's he doing here?). Continuing to insist that somebody is robbing me, I get up an investigate. I check the other windows and overhear the television downstairs. Uhm, I don't think a robber would stop to catch his favorite late night show while trying to steal our stuff.
Convinced that it couldn't possibly be Steven coming home, Britni continues to glance out of the window. She finally calls him and he confirms that it IS him that is home. Honestly the likelihood of somebody trying to steal our 23 year old red dump truck is incredibly low.

Once the burglarly is solved, I figure I can finally get some shut eye.
Steven figured he can finally dust his room.
Brother, you're awesome and I love you, but your room squeeks like the dickens. Its worse than nails on a chalkboard, than Dad's sneezes, than Mrs. Abel, than the Italians at the pool. It is probably my biggest pet peeve. How your room got to this 200 year old haunted house state, I am not sure. One thing I am sure about is I risk suffocation by covering my head with two pillows and a quilt to try and drown it out. Unsuccessfully. Also, around this time, cue the awful fan clicking noise. What have I got myself? A hair-ripping house orchestra.
I finally fall asleep around 2:30am.


Thank goodness Mom likes to wash dishes at 7am.

I Believe in Al Gore

Al Gore, you are correct. Global Warming is a problem. For my attitude.

Britni and I decided to walk the Nolan Trail this week. It was about 6pm so we figured the sun was going down and it would probably

start to cool down by the time we got there. I have never been so wrong about anything in my life.

First entering the trail we appeared to be well-groomed, civil, and educated young women. After finished the five mile pilgrimmage, we could sufficiently be described as "natural born amazon women" or maybe Neanderthals. We managed to become completely de-humanized while walking this trail... I think we actually got to a point where we had strayed off the trail and entered the set of Twilight.

As Britni's hair expanded in the humidity, minutes turned into hours. After an hour and a half of walking this trail, we finally found civilization again. We have decided we are too old for such nonsense and will not be participating in anymore nature walks.

Anyways, the instense heat lately has put me in a somewhat zombie-like sate. Or, as Bob would say, sluggish. I do not like the hot. I get cranky. I repeatedly complain that "It's so HOT." So for the benefit of everybody who comes into contact with me, I tend to stay inside for the majority of the day. Otherwise, I'd be like the "night seeker" in the link below....sizzling and hissing when the hot hot sun scorches my skin.

ZOMBIEEE

edit: Please note that the graduation gowns are also extremely hot and
probably made of sheeps wool. It will be interesting to see how my
mood holds up at William and Mary hall on Wednesday..

Pretty Retarded and Outstanding Mania

...or PROM for short.

I have been on a blogging hiatus (sorry, Paul) so prepare yourself for some intense complaining. Let's just dive right in, shall we?

This past Saturday was Prom. My date, group, pictures, dinner, and time at the dance were outstanding. Bob looked dashing, the entire group was awesome, pictures were bearable, dinner was fun, and the dance was great, too.

Of course, the five hours of preparation was somewhat stressful but Britni helped with that.

Surprisingly, I have no complaints about the actual Prom or events leading up to it.

I do, however, have a few words about Afterprom.

It really "grinds my gears" to see people who do absolutely nothing to benefit the school win the ginormous prizes at Afterprom. People who I have never seen, get suspended, or are going to use their $100 gift card to the mall to just buy more skinny jeans and hair dye (I'm talking to you, Jonas Wanna-be). Whereas my ENTIRE group does so much stupid crap to help out that dumb high school (Most School Spirited, my eye!!) that atleast ONE of us should have gotten something (Besides Laura, whose mother I believe rigged the drawing...but that's completely acceptable because Laura single handedly puts on carwashes). Basically, I find it so incredibly retarded that all I got at Afterprom was a $10 Wal-mart gift card that I personally singled out the dumb people who won stuff and let them know they didn't deserve it.

It's actually a statistical marvel that Jeff didn't win anything. Considering he had 90% of the tickets in the TV jar (thanks to Steven, giving him 20 tickets at a time if he did a little jig or got him a taco).

So, perhaps it was karma that none of us won anything... Since we actually stole/cheated to get tickets.

And I really suck at Bingo.

And ANDDD looky looky at pictures.

Geezers

Old people do not know how to drive.

This About Sums It Up

A Year to Remember

No. The answer is No. I will not sign your yearbook. Yeah, we had a class together. Yeah, I sat next to you for nine months (and for the entire month of May, you were probably wondering where I was). Yeah, we may have shared a few laughs (but come on, I'm hilarious that's inevitable). Yeah, I copied your worksheets and jacked your notes. However, this does not necessarily mean I have something sincere and heartfelt to write to you. Yet people insist that I do.

Things I wrote in people's yearbooks over the past couple days:

• Good Job, you didn't drop out
• Your hair is pretty entertaining and so is your monotone speaking voice
• I've known you too long
• I hope you do alright when you leave
• See you in ten years
• Your sarcasm exceeds that of my own

Now, clearly none of those things are very sentimental. But I'm not Nicholas Sparks.

A Kracken From the Sea!

Last week, my "student teacher" (from here on out, known as Monster) finished it's reign of terror (I mean, educational journey) in my Marine Biology class. Readers, a moment of silence for this joyous occasion...

For the past five months it has tortured us with it's overtly masculine bouts of seizure-ish yelling, forced group discussions, activity books, and endless powerpoint slides about who knows what. This person can only be described as...well, ballsy. Not only for it's unwavering nerve to stand up against 19 angry teenagers, but also the fact that I am not quite sure what Ms. Brown is packin' down there.

According to Monster, "you have got to be the most complaining bunch of teenagers I have ever seen in my life." Thank you! I consider complaining what I do best (Duchess of Complaining, if you will). And yes, I am mere weeks from graduating, so sorry I do NOT care about crustaceans and/or estuaries...KAPEESH!?

Monster was not only mean, rude, and inconsiderate...but she (??) was INCREDIBLY butch. When asked about our thoughts about Monster, a male in my class responded, "I would make a prettier girl than Ms. Brown."

Ahh yes, how I love brutal honesty.

Other comments included:

1. She has a terrible personality

2. I hope to God she doesn't reproduce

3. Wait, she wants to teach?

4. SHE'S GONE!!!!

5. I saw her at Busch Gardens once. Touching the horses.

6. She probably dates that other butchy student teacher.

7. What was her name??

All very constructive criticism, good work Marine Biology class. You never cease to impress me.

Also, shout-out to Mr. Heiser if he actually reads this.

"Young MAN, there's no need to feel down..."

Today, Britni and I decided to go to the gym (after engorging ourselves at Moes, but all things in moderation right??!). Now this is an amazing feat in itself. The fact that we will actually stop watching True Life (you shine, girl with two moms), get off ours butts, and collectively drive to the gym is incredible.

Hearing Lady GaGa's Poker Face for the umpteenth time on the way there only intensified the frustration that was about to occur. Pulling into the parking lot, I know it was unlikely we were going to get a spot. But I was still (surprisingly) optimistic. Minutes later I give up on the YMCA parking lot and go across to the York County Public Library to try an find a spot (after somehow managing to parallel park in a space smaller than my car), but I will NOT admit defeat. I find a spot at the library (why are all of you people here, anyway?) and we walk across to the gym. Attempting to sign in my guest, we stand in line for probably fifteen minutes. After judging the Poquoson skodees, it's our turn at the desk. Here is how this conversation went:

Me: "Hi, I would like to sign in my guest."

Overly-Tan-Fire-Crotch-Employee (OTFCE): "Oh, I'm sorry but there are no guests in the evening. Only during the day."

...uhm excuse me?? You're telling me I am only ALLOWED 3 guests PER year and I have to bring them between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm??

Noticing my immediate disappointment and anger OTFCE speaks up again...

OTFCE: "Well you can pay $10 for her and sign up for a...."

Me: "Yeah, no thanks, alright bye."

Seriously lady? I am not going to give you ten dollars so Britni and I can pretend to exercise. Besides, we spent all of our money on Joey combos at Moes earlier today so, sorry, I do not have enough cash to pay YOU for ME to sweat.

Also, while I am complaining about the YMCA...does the "A" now stand for Asian? It's like walking into China Town in that place. Get real!

So, Britni and I drive over to Coventry for a run.

This run is accompanied by overly friendly eight year olds, goose poop, the Lawsons (hey, ya'll!!!), and a car accident...what??

Yeah we were witnesses to a car crash. In Coventry. Way to go.

Doing our civic duty...we stopped running, watched, and unassisted.

In an outrage, Britni started shouting the constitutional rights and that "you better get their information if you want them to pay for that!!!" (Note: Britni has been in many accidents and therefore is clearly an expert on accident protocol).

Since we decided it was best not to help, we finished our run and got back in the car.

After this entire adventure was over, Britni had a epiphany: "It must be against God's law for me to exercise, because THAT, was ridiculous."

And YMCA? There IS a need to "be un-hap-py."

*Edit: Notice Handlebar mustache in video. Sweet lawwwd!