I am quite literally butthurt.

My ass hurts. Quite a lot, in fact. Unglamorous as it may seem, it is nonetheless quite a legitimate complaint, since it debars me from full enjoyment of my life and pains me more than words can say. I can barely move, and am forced to waddle, stiff-jointed and bow-legged, like some kind of cowboy-penguin hybrid, whenever I want to walk anywhere. It's rather annoying. This all started when Dad made us all go hiking yesterday for a family bonding experience. It was the worst thing I did all day. For one thing, the "hill" he chose to ascend seemed a veritable Mt. Olympus and was as steep as the prices in a suburban Apple store. (Incidentally, wouldn't iPi be an adorable name for an account or for a product or something? Rolls off the tongue, it does.) I got stones in my shoes (Actually Sungmin's, since I own only one pair of sneakers and Kitty was wearing them), and my outfit looked completely disgusting. We climbed all the way to the top, and I nearly died, and then we climbed down, and I nearly died doing that too. Not very pleasant. I suppose it built character and muscle tone and all, but I wish wandering around a mall for awhile could be counted just as productive. It would be a lesson in economy too. How cruel indeed is the fate of the human race.

I've just watched a Skyrim Gangnam Style video on youtube. What am I even doing with my life? This is what my existence has descended to. Maybe I should go on a quest or something. I could ride dragons and take arrows to the knee and all. After all, what am I but Dragonborn? I am the bamfiest of all bamfs and must be respected as so. I will learn to speak Dohvakiin's language as well. Look at all the "misspelled" words in this paragraph. My my.

I've got about halfway through Atlas Shrugged now, and I feel that my pace is dreadfully slow. It's been a week. I should be further along. Of course, it is a notoriously long and difficult story, but then, I've always prided myself on my ability to read fast. What to do? I like the book quite a lot, actually. It's so complex! And the characters have grown on me. Well, some have. It's hard not to like Francisco, even though he is so annoying, and I wish Dagny and Hank all the best in the world. They are adorable, both of them. I'm so sure they're going to break up though, and Hank and Francisco will start dating. Then Dagny will make some terrible decision and go out with John Galt or something. Oh dear. I think I've seen the future, and it's not too pleasant. How could this happen? It's dreadful! Hank and Dagny had such an adorable relationship! Better than when she was with Francisco, because there was an unequal distribution of power there. Although he said that he still loves her and he always will, so that's cute. Dafuq's wrong with me? Have I become a sentimentalist? I have long denigrated love as silly, but now I fear that I've grown an amorous streak. Next I'll be taking a capitalist mistress myself. (I'm listening to Money by Pink Floyd, by the way. So perfect for this discussion. Oh yeah, dat ambience babyy!) Besides the love aspects of the story, though, I really like the evil government bit. So unconventional-yet conventional. Very intriguing. I also love how the grammar is all flawless. There's not a misused "who" in there! It's beautiful. And I like how everything has different shades of meaning. It all makes you think in addition to being a fun book to read. It's all quite nuanced. I think you have to be a bit of a mature person to read it. Not to tout myself as being mature or anything, you know, it's just that it seems a bit more cultured than some people would like. Maybe it's a different kind of maturity necessary? Hmm. I mean, neither Allie nor Sonia would like it. And no one else would go near it with a ten foot stick. The only person who might read it is effing S-hole. The brat! I bet he has read it. He probably identifies with the characters and has very strong opinions about the whole thing. Again I say it- the brat!

It's Kitty's birthday today. It's her quinceañera. Does this mean I have to call her Katherine now? Ugh. This'll be weird. It's probably high time though. I mean, we only called her Kitty because of the X-Men character, and most people don't understand the reference. They all think it's from Pride and Prejudice (which is quite confusing to them, because that Kitty is such an unpleasant character). Anyway, we went to Barnes and Noble to read and drink overpriced coffee, since that's her home away from home (mine too), or rather she and Mom did. I had to do math homework. After that, we picked up Zac and went off to watch The Hobbit. It was adorable! I want a hobbit for my very own. But they didn't follow the book very well. There were all these random orcs popping up everywhere, and the dialogue consisted of short, pithy, emotional statements that Tolkein would never have written. I don't think I've heard so many panegyrics to friendship since my last episode of My Little Pony. But it was good overall, and bound to make a lot of money and stimulate the economy (ish). So that's all beautiful.

You know, I want some chocolate, since I have gotten about five pounds of it for Christmas, but I don't know if I dare venture into the other room to get some. It's dark and all. There might be rogue CIA agents hanging about just waiting for a single slip of mine. Actually, wouldn't it be the FBI? I always thought they were interchangeable, but since gov, I've realized that the various parts of the government are actually distinct and separate. Like, the Department of the Treasury can't constitutionally go out and coin money (like I thought they did). So anyway, is it the FBI that I actually fear? It must be. They seem less threatening somehow, don't they? I don't know what it is. F seems like a nice friendly letter (being that it starts the word "friendly" and all). Although it's not that friendly or welcome if it show up on your report card. Now I digress, probably permanently, but speaking of which, apparently there's something called an XF which you can get on your report card. It signifies cheating and failing the class, and it prevents the bearer of it from ever being accepted to a professional school. Some girl in Zac's school got one after she cheated in Organic Chemistry, and now can she not only not go to medical school (ever), she can't even fall back into pharmacy or public health! Sucks, man! But she kind of deserves it. I mean, I don't want my doctor to have cheated his way through school. Puts you off a little, you know. Still, there are lots of people out there who are so hardcore they never get caught. That's not good. People are so dumb, ugh. I once considered cheating-once. I was taking the PSAT, and I couldn't figure out the math section. There were about five minutes left, and I was completely brain dead. I was sitting at a small table across from a girl who had told me before the test started that she was good at math, and the proctor was nowhere in sight. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to glance casually across the table and get the answers (since she'd shown her work very conveniently). I considered this for about half a second, and then got offended at myself for the very notion. I'm not puritanically moral or anything, but my ego is too big to take credit for answers that aren't mine. Whatever I get, I get, but I'm going to be the one to get it, you know? Not doing something by my own merit, but getting credit for it anyway-that's what would turn me into a stereotypical white person. And that's something I totally don't want to be. Damn. I'm racist. What the hell! Ah, well. Everyone has their flaws. (I seem to have more than most, but that is neither here nor there) You know, I really like the Ramones. What is wrong with me? Maybe that's a flaw. But they're just so drawing! (I don't think that's the best word for the situation) I also like rap. It makes me happy (which it shouldn't, really, but dear me, joy is joy). Now, although it's only 3:30 in the morning, I'm quite tired, so, although it makes me feel like the most taciturn of manly warriors, I shall hie myself to bed. I do need my beauty rest after all. How else am I going to find a nice capitalist to date?

What is the point of this post. What is it. What.

I have made a beauty of my page. It's so professional I could burst into tears right here. The only thing I have not figured out is how to change the time zone, because right now I probably update as if I were in Alaska. Still, the lovely colors and designs and fonts and all are balm to my soul. Anyway, why am I here? I wrote a novel about my personal problems last night early this morning, and a second edition would be welcome to no one. I hope I haven't grown addicted to writing about myself. That wouldn't be very desirable. Perhaps I should quit while I am ahead. I have cats to look at, after all, and capitalist literature to read. And, um, college apps to do. So, though it makes me feel like a stoic, kingly, taciturn hero, akin to Aragorn (or worse, Heathcliff), I shall bid you an abrupt adieu.

I HATE THE WORLD UGGGGH

My love, it is I.

I made 27.08 today. I think that's pretty good. Actually, no. I made 47.08 today. Even better. First I played for the cantata at the Filipino church, which was mind numbingly dull and quite out of tune, but which furnished a delightful potluck, several hot guys, and the piece de resistance, a fake credit card for 20 bucks. So that was charming and all. Then I went to busk in the street (with le family) where all the rich people live (about 45 minutes away, so no one recognized us). We made more than a hundred dollars there, but we had to split it. Oh well. It was actually quite fun. I put on about five pounds of extra garments to stave off the inclement weather, and I looked as bulky and masculine as I have ever looked in my life. I could barely raise my arms (which made it hard to play, but such are the trials of manly men such as I). This brings my Christmas season gig counter up to about 18. Not bad, I'd say, but it seems paltry compared to what could be. Like, I mean, what if I went up and down the streets caroling my unfortunate neighbors until the break of dawn? I could do it. They might not recognize me if I disguise myself heavily. Or, even better, I could drive a couple towns over and spread the cheer of the season there. I would drift through like the proverbial tumbleweed and float past on the chilly December breeze before anyone could arrest me for trespassing or being a public nuisance. I like this plan. Makes me seem like one of these cool-ass ghosts. I'll just change my name to Ephemeral Effie or Pearl the Poltergeist, grow a handlebar mustache, don a pair of spurs, and ride off into the sunset like the BAMF that I am. No more will it be all quiet on the Western front, rather, the Western front will glow with holiday spirit and cheer. I wish everyone could think up nice practical plans for brightening up the world like me.

Zac is home for the holidays now, at least in spirit, although his corporeal being is often in actuality blessing someone else's home. He is almost never home, and when he is, he makes it clear that he does not want to be. I often wonder why he bothers gracing us with his presence at all. Uncharitably, I might venture to guess that it is because he wants to talk about himself. He does seem to do it a lot. Not once in four years has he asked me about my life, nor Kitty about hers. However, he has frequently gotten offended when we have neglected to inquire about his. On the rare occasions when he eats dinner with our family, conversation revolves completely about him and his friends. I now know more about his classmates than I do about mine. If someone ventures to bring up a topic that doesn't pertain to Zac in some way, he will either roll his eyes, make frightening faces, make beautiful comments such as, "Cool story bro," and "No offense, but who cares?" and sarcastically decry the lack of intelligence present in our family circle, or ignore the comment entirely and sweep on with more (oft-repeated) tales about his excellence. To hear him tell it, he is possessed of every desirable trait known to man. Proud as I am of him for making all his grad school pre-screenings, I feel I have heard all I need to about them, and though I am happy that he has found innumerable friendships at school, I don't feel that we need to dwell on them inordinately. Today, he began talking brightly of his friend Amy and her boyfriend Richard, then morphed into a discussion of his ability of using his friends for his own profit. His words were remorseful, but his tone was light, and his voice cheerful. One would have thought he was proud of his materialism (which he is). Mom interjected once that while I was at summer linguistics camp, I never had to pay for anything (except for breakfast on the first day) and I felt no regret about it. Zac didn't even deign to acknowledge this. He sniffed briefly and prissily, then launched into an anecdote about his imposition on his friend Lilith. This turned into a lecture on why Lilith is "into" him and why he is too good for her. Poor Lilith. I feel quite sorry for her. She's not alone, though. To hear him tell it, she has the company of all the female members of the music department in the rejection pile of his affections. Now, I know that my poor brother is quite insecure, and bragging about himself interminably makes him feel better, but unfortunately, I am only human, and I must humbly state that it also makes him insufferable. It is unfortunate, but there it is. Maybe someday his social skills will get better and he will be able to live up to the character he has painted for himself, but until then, he come across as naught but the most arrogant of souls.

Damn. I feel so insecure now. Not just currently (though I do currently as well), but forever. I thought I had gotten to be a strong and manly prick who cared for nothing but her own feelings, but I suppose I was wrong. It is the college search what has done this to me. No, I tell a lie. It is my own cursed human stupidity. If I were not such an ineffectual specimen, I would be far more acceptable to all society. I would be a bright shining star in the galaxy of the community, a true beacon of perfection to all the struggling masses, a paragon of every virtue conceived by man. My relatives would talk about me at dinner parties. My teachers would tout me to their other classes. My friends would look up to me. It would not be a burden to try to teach me things. I would be famous in the land. And above all, I would be the most self-absorbed of narcissists. I would probably become a raging capitalist, maybe go into industry or engineering or something (since I'd be good at everything) and become obscenely wealthy and be nominated as a Supreme Court justice without lifting a finger. Sure, my name would soon be despised by all the plebians as being synonymous with filthy lucre, but what would that matter? I would be successful. But all of this is as ash in the wind, since I am an ineffectual specimen. I am literally good for nothing. Though I have striven to hide it or pass it off as a degenerative disorder, I am as clumsy as a broom with two left feet. I often find myself in a close relationship with walls, and cracks in the ground are disastrous for my staid composure. When I look at my extremities, I am often startled to find a tapestry of multi-colored bruises decorating my skin. As if this weren't bad enough, I have no skills to speak of. I play violin and viola, but only well enough to get me cheap two-bit gigs and second-rate teaching jobs. I sing, but only well enough to land me a spot as a filler soprano who goes between first and second as the song demands it (although, to toot my own horn, I am in the top audition choir, and I beat out about forty people to get there. But still.) I can't draw, can't cook, can't knit blankets, can't even clean the house properly. I don't know how to apply makeup beyond eyeliner, and the only popular culture I follow is what comes up on the meme sites I read (or in the news sites I go to). Sports confuse me utterly, and although I want to understand car lore, I'm still stuck as to what the difference is between a V engine and an M one. But more than any of this, I'm bad at math. That's the one thing that will haunt me forever. I could ignore all my other failings if I were only adept at math. It's such a shameful matter, too. Such a ridiculous thing. Why in the world should I be bad at math? I have more opportunity than I know what to do with, and more resources for help than anyone had before. I mean, my brother is a math major, for crying out loud. Logically, I should be at the top of my class. But no. I'm the requisite dumbass of the room. I ask everyone for help, I talk to the teacher every time she's available, I read the textbook, and I study my butt off, but I've not gotten an A on a test since I was a freshman. What is wrong with me? I need to know. Maybe if I knew, I could fix it. Actually, probably not. I'm a colossal celestial joke, I think. Maybe an experiment gone wrong. Oh, was that irreverent? Probably. But I don't even know anymore. Theology is something else I'm bad at. I accrue questions at the speed of light, and of course there's no way to settle them effectually, so I'll be left wondering if I'm a flaming heretic for all time. And the worst thing is, I feel like everything I think is dreadfully sophomoric. I mean, if I have to go to hell for having heretical thoughts, shouldn't they at least be interesting heretical thoughts? It seems only decent somehow. Ugh. I hate these periods of absolute bleakness and despair. Of course, my desperately hopeless mood will pass like the rain, but it's always hanging on the periphery of my mind (also like the rain). Maybe I should take medication. Or, even better, maybe I should stop being ineffectual. Zing. That's a good one. I should take it on the road. I was born this way, and this way will I stay until the day I die. It may not be fun for me, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that it makes people like Zac look even better in comparison. According to Lucy Maude Montgomery or Louisa May Alcott or another one of these saccharine, obnoxious, pseudo-meaningful writers who proliferated during the late 19th century, this is a sacred purpose for people like me. How inspirational. I feel so much better now. Isn't it just the best to realize that your sole purpose in life is to be the antithesis of someone successful? Hits the spot. Mm gurl.

Oh my. It's almost three in the morning. Well then. Goodnight, and may your heart be as blessed as is mine with the knowledge that you are valuable solely for your ineptitude. Or, if you are cursedly successful and brilliant, you can rest on your laurels knowing that I am here to provide contrast for you. Whatever the knowledge, it is thine.

Discursive as the dawn

I have just taken pictures expressing the personalities of each of the characters in The Lord of the Rings. What am I even doing with my life? Still, most of them were quite genius, if I do say so myself. Especially Bill the Pony. That was a good un. And the fake beard I made for Gandalf... Now that was haute couture right there! Man, I sure do love winter break. Best time in my life.

I'm reading Atlas Shrugged now. I want to finish it before break ends. So far, I've been making good progress. Would it be a terrible thing to admit that I quite like the book? It's very interesting, and I'm not hampered by having any affection for any of the characters, and there's something delightfully illicit about reading Ayn Rand (especially in this household). I might name my nonexistent daughter Dagny. I like the name. Hopefully it doesn't mean anything scurrilous. But what if I've encountered a dilemma? What if I become a money grubbing capitalist forevermore, entranced by filthy lucre and caring nothing for love and feeling? What if I never find a husband? That would be ok, actually. I'd be just fine with that. We must all eschew love with a firm hand. And besides, even those capitalists found love in a hopeless place. If effing Francisco can do it, so too can I (I really don't like Francisco). Wait, but is that the point of the book? Are we supposed to dislike the characters? Maybe it's too show us how bad everything is. Well, yes, I guess it is. So is that the point? But then, sometimes I do like them (some of them anyway). Like, aww, little capitalists, they're so cute. So maybe that's not the point. Or is it just me reacting to them wrong? I do that. Or maybe I'm overthinking the whole thing...

I'm taking an online calculus course now. Like, literally, right now. I should be doing the problem sets, but it's really hard to focus. Damn, what if I got a disorder? I'm doing like five things at once here. And I feel that I am doing none of them well. I mean, I have a 90 in the course so far. That's just not like me! Well, maybe it is. Cuz, uh, it's math and all. But for reals, it should be higher! Ugh.

I turned off the heat awhile ago, because I want to save as much money as possible, and our gas bill is too damn high (cue Herman Cain jpeg), but someone has turned it back on. Do they want to heat me out of house and home? We must be men here, and men do not mind the cold more than they would mind another human being. Something must be done! However, I'm not the one to do it, because I've just got comfortable here, and I don't want to move. Perhaps I will do it later (that's my rallying cry).

Wellp, off to do some more calculus! I gotta get this done man. It's as easy as pi and will pad up my resume. So here we go. Off to differentiate! Just kidding. We're not there yet. He's still explaining what functions are. Oh dear...

Quite brief, I do declare.

Oh dear. Dad is listening to a radio program about how the nation is being destroyed. This is, of course, nothing new, but he has established himself not five feet from me, and is blasting the strident anti-Soicalist Gospel through his speakers all over the house. I wouldn't be surprised if our neighbors came in to complain about the noise. After all, surely not everyone is a member of the Racist Capitalists Guild and the NRA. And surely someone must have a modicum of common sense and sensibility (see what I did there dat was a alloozhun lol), and would be more than willing to object to this outpouring of verbal filth issuing from the gutters of the radio stations. Certainly, I would. But it really isn't worth the effort. At dinner, he is sure to give us all a bowdlerized version of all that has transpired on the airwaves (heedless of the fact that we have heard the entirety and need no summary), and I can defame all logical fallacies then. Well, perhaps not all. There are sure to be quite a lot.

It is winter break now, and I couldn't be happier. I needed this break, I did. It is like a shot of seratonin to the soul (if that is indeed a good thing) and like a penguin on the doorstep. I can finish my college apps now, and sleep until the cows come home. And I can finally stop seeing Fish Face and S-hole every day. I'm so sick of those two. Hopefully I shan't see them after high school. S-hole wants to go to Berkeley, and I didn't apply there, and even though Fish Face and I both applied to Davis, it's not my first choice, and I probably won't even get in there anyway because of my shitty calc grade. So, you see, I will be safe from their annoyingness forevermore. Aww, that's kind of sad though! It's not that I like them (quite the opposite, actually), but I do like to see them every day and make fun of them, if that makes any sense. I am a bad person, corrupt and shallow, and we must all recognize the tragic fact (if it was not abundantly obvious before).

I'm reading Atlas Shrugged right now. I want to finish it during break. I don't particularly adhere to that style of thinking, but I feel like it's something everyone should read. It also might help me on my journey to become a heartless capitalist who stomps on the dreams (and wallets) of all those around him and who is both revered as being a colossus of pecuniary power and loathed as all the nasty points of humanity incarnate. I mean, I'm going to be a lawyer for eff's sake. What am I supposed to do?

Oh, tis suppertime. Ok, bye.

Confessions of an oaf

I like rap now. I've decided it. I used to not, cuz I thought it was unmelodic and boring, but now I realize that it is rife with subtle nuances that I hadn't noticed before, so now I feel that it is in my soul just as much as everything else. It also makes me feel like a badass, and that's definitely a plus. Not much does, you know. Maybe I should take to wearing chain mail and riding two motorcycles at once and all that stuff. It might make it easier for me to maintain my image as Madame la Badasse so everyone can look up and revere me. In general, people don't, and I find that quite strange. After all, who am I but the coolest of cool? But hardly a day goes by without someone telling me how small and cute I am. Lately, Fish Face has taken to exclaiming over my supposed quietude, and the rest of my beloved choir mates have joined suit. In vain are my protestations that I actually am not quiet and shy and it is only their odious presence that suppresses my loquacity. I think they all feel sorry for me. It's ridiculously awkward. I can't do anything publicly in there without someone going "Aww!" and no matter how I act, I always have the uncomfortable feeling that someone is thinking me a big, awkward, antisocial, oaf. And I'm NOT! I'm just not integrated into the special little Choir Club they have! Is it my fault that I don't have a Mitt Romney sized bank account and a negative GPA? UGH. Performances are as awkward as the juxtaposition of figures in a Hiberno-Saxon painting. I am forced to keep my phone in my bra and text random people whom I think will reply to me just to keep body and soul together. And then Fish Face will inevitably see me eschewing all human contact and come over and start trying to talk to me (out of pity, I'm sure), and then I'll sort of chuckle awkwardly and talk in the really babyish voice that comes out when I'm uncomfortable and then some other person will come over and tell me how little and adorable I am and then I'll awkwardly chuckle some more and finally everyone will drift away and I'll take up texting again, feeling like the worst kind of oaf. It's quite a pattern. How did this happen, anyway? I think it started at the very beginning of the year. Or no, even earlier than that, it started at the end of last year when I went to the induction ceremony. Every blessed person in the world started weeping and wailing like the world was ending, proclaiming their undying love and devotion for each other, and in the midst of this lachrymosity, I quietly slipped out of the room and skipped the very first bonding experience the group had. And it all went downhill from there. I didn't know a soul in the group except Lisa, whom everyone loves, Roger, who is supremely annoying, and Fish Face, whose very presence is anathema to me, so I didn't talk to anyone, because I really don't like buddying it up with strangers (usually). To add to this beautiful situation, everyone had decided to be blood brothers from day one, so I was cut off from the cult before I'd even gotten a chance to initiate myself into it. As time went on, everyone else just got closer, and things just got more awkward for me. Often, I would go through the whole period without opening my mouth once (except to sing, naturally). Activities that involved participation were excruciating. The day we did voice matching and I had to sing in front of the class was a nightmare; I still cringe with shame to think about it. And, um, things are still like that. Yup. I can't even move around in my chair, because I feel like everyone will judge me for it. That may sound ridiculous, and indeed, it seems ridiculous to me as I think about it now, but once I get into the situation, every bound of sensibility disappears. I purposely spend large amounts of time after lunch talking to people and staring at myself in the bathroom mirror so I won't have to get to class until right before the bell rings. I'm often late, actually, and I never get there before the two minute bell. I have literally no one to talk to. Because Lisa is such a lovely person, everyone likes her, and is her friend, and I can't depend on her to take care of me socially, so I daren't hang around her too much. I ain't no parasite, ye ken, and I don't want anyone to think I'm pathetic, so I have to do everything solo and act like I like it that way. If someone is friendly to them, of course I'm nice to them and all, and if they choose to hang out with me, I'll be a companion like no other, but I can't actively seek anyone out. So far, I've been ok I think, but I have no idea what I'm going to do about tour. Five days cooped up with these people? What the hell am I going to do about this? I didn't even like it last year, and I was completely integrated into the group then. What if I didn't go? I don't know how I'd manage that. It's not even possible. Ugh. I hate everything. This was supposed to be the best year of my life; I've wanted to be in this group for five years. What the hell happened? I feel like there's a valuable life lesson here somewhere...

On the other hand, in my other classes, everyone is being much more friendly than last year. In Lit, our group is like a legit group now. I actually like each and every one of the five other members, and when I see them outside of class, we wave cheerfully to each other. This is quite a miracle, since before this year, I didn't like Lily and Helena at all, and I was ambivalent about Ansel, Jake, and Chris. I don't think they liked me either. I know Lily didn't. Whenever she saw me walking with Allie, she would studiously ignore me (even though I was always nice to her). But where was I going with this? Ah, yes. I love lit. It's such a fun class (and not just because it's English and English is the only thing I'm good at). Physics is fun too. The people in it are all smart, and I like them in spite of the fact that most of them are juniors. Only three people have an A in there, and I'm one of them. So that's something else that's remarkably lovely. I actually like gov too now, even though I never thought I would. The subject is beautiful, and even though I dislike most of the people in there, it's still somehow ok. Art history, of course, deserves more laudation than I could give. SO glad I didn't take psych. I'd probably be with S-hole. Oh yeah, speaking of the little brat! He's been so nice lately! What is going on? In calc on Friday, we were going to sing a Beach Boys song for extra credit (five of us, that is, not the whole class), and I didn't know it. I said as much, to warn the others, and without further ado, S-hole reached into his pocket and pulled out his ipod. "Here," he said, beginning to proffer it to me. "I got this," interrupted Katelyn in her nasally voice, brandishing her giant, five hundred dollar iphone. "I have better speakers." "Oh, that's true," said S-hole humbly, and began to sing along to the music. "You can probably learn it fast; you're in choir," he added to me. Well, I could, obviously, but it was mighty nice of him to point it out. After I'd learned it (in one turn, may I add), we sang it through, and I suggested something along the lines of like totally adding some harmony. "How do you do that?" asked S-hole, turning to me with an interested expression. I was gearing up to an involved explanation of thirds and perfect fifths, when Jake succinctly told him that he should just sing other notes. I couldn't really think of anything to add to this perfect elucidation, so I shut up and we performed the piece in unison. I think it was very nice, personally, and any extra credit is as light to my eyes. But it kind of bothers me that S-hole can sing... Like, where do you get off being so well rounded, bro? It ain't natural. Something's gotta give. I bet he has a horrible personality. Oh, wait... Zing! That was a good one. I should write it down. Poor S-hole. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. After all, what harm has he done me? Oh yeah- he offended my pride. Well then.

Speaking of pride! I HATE MR. DARCY. He reminds me of S-hole. Damn, I straight up don't know why bitches be all over him like that. He nasty as eff. Someone gotta realize his ratchet ass ain't worth swooning over pretty damn fast! Whaaaat. I'ma write an effing treatise about this. I like Elizabeth, though. I'd marry her. She's hottt. And I like the book a lot. It's really good. Much better than Hamlet, that's for sure. Come on, what's so great about Shakespeare? He's overrated. And I can say that because I've read a lot of his plays and some of his sonnets (well, not very many of them...) and I know the premises of some of the other ones. So THERE. Let's have a revolution.

Okeydokey, time to go do some stuff. For one thing, finish my concert report that's due Monday. For another thing, go to bed. Goodnight, now!

I CAN'T THINK OF A CLEVER AND WITTY TITLE FFF

I am working on an art history report, and I feel certain and sure that I am doing it wrong. This is not funny, guys. Not at all. I had a 94, but then I got a four on that one test, and my grade probably went down to about a 92, and now I need to do really well on this paper or I am dead in the water. And I think I am doing it wrong. So.

Although I thought that about the last one and I got 100... But let us not speculate.

I had to sing at the band concert tonight. It was very heinous. I may be a picky, tight ass bastard, but even the most incompetent and tone deaf audience member should agree with my solemn pronouncements and be able to recognize how out of tune the "music" was. It took all my will power to not snatch the violins from their very hands and tune them myself. They were so flat I thought I could see the end of the horizon- and there was nothing there but desolation and dissonance. Damn, that sounds reeeal good. Maybe I should become an author in my old age. I will write dramatic novels about myself and my fellow Supreme Court justices, and the American public will finally know our names. Maybe I'll stick some congressmen in there if they invite us out to eat with their PACS a couple times. It will be called Courtship-the Untold Story of American Government, and will involve scintillating, steamy, and completely fallacious accounts of judicial love and passion. It will be a best seller immediately. Man, I can't wait to be rich...I will donate to people and start community music programs and not give a red penny to anyone white and be just a really nice philanthropic philanthropic overall. And when I die, I will leave my immense wealth to one lucky individual and change their life forever (since I will have no children and no husband and will be as lonely as Slenderman). It will be a beautiful thing. Maybe they will write a novel as well.

Fish Face is becoming quite the annoying little brat. He keeps trying to talk to me and all, and I think it's out of pity because I am so forever alone. Surely it can't be because of my engaging and witty dialogue. I usually say insulting things. Now, why do I do that? That ain't so polite. I think it may be because I don't like him. That could be a good reason. Still, maybe I should take a manners class so that I do not offend his mortal soul. It doesn't matter though. He will continue to think that I am cute and sweet and quiet and shy until the end of time. And I know this because he keeps saying it. Constantly. And he won't stop staring at me at random times (usually when I am making a particularly derpy face), probably just to make me feel awkward. Damn! This man, man. I don't know what to do with my life anymore.

Oooooh, it's more than a feelingggg, more than a feeling! She slipped awaayyyyyy!Yeeeeah! What is wrong with me. My taste in music has become shittier by the day. Soon I will be listening to One Direction and lauding Justin Bieber as good. Damn, this is why we can't have nice things. Effff.

We sang in calc today (and have for the past few days) to get extra credit. S-hole sang too, and he actually can sing. SO annoying! The little twerp! That's my territory! I oughtta smack the sense out of you! (Is that the phrase? I am beginning to doubt...) He knows I'm in choir, too. I know this cuz he talked to me. WHAT IS GOING ON. How does he know about my life and why is he being friendly? Does he not hate me like I hate him? What is life?! WHO KILLED CECILIA??! There are things we must know here.

Now I'm listening to music from Spirited Away. MY CHILDHOOD. OMUGAH. THE FEELS. Why do I do this to myself? I'm going to have to go punch rocks outside now just to get my sense of male dignity back, and I don't like doing that. Breaks my nails, ya see. Oh my, oh my. I just realized how impending is my doom. Tis 11:45, and I must finish my paper. I hate life. Gon' punch it in the face. Or perhaps the ballsack. But something, anyway. Before that propitious and beautiful occurrence, though, I really must finish my paper, so I must bid you adieu. Bon soir!