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I was looking up the national averages for the AP tests this year, and they were even more gratifying than I could have hoped. 11.9% of people got fives on Art History, and 11.2% got fives on Government, but the best part is this: 7.6% got fives on Lit. And I'm one of them. Ooh, whuttup! This explains why I haven't seen one person yet (either on tumblr or in real life) who's gotten anything more than a four. I'm not an egotistical jerk, really, but I had to brag, because I can't exactly go around shouting it from the rooftops. Actually, I suppose I could. I should have posted my scores on facebook when I got them and everyone else did. I suppose it's too late now. Now no one will ever know of my genius. Boy oh boy, I really am an egotistical jerk, aren't I. But you have to understand, this is an extremely validating moment for me. I've lived my whole life (or at least up until this year) thinking that English is second nature to everyone, that prowess at reading and writing isn't anything more special than breathing, and that I had no talents whatsoever. So to see that it really is pretty cool to be good at something– that's what everyone lives for, right? You know, I also got a five on AP Lang last year and 10.9% of people got that. It's also the biggest test administered. That didn't register as much with me, though, because the class was so ridiculously easy, and because I was so ashamed of my fours on the other tests. I didn't study for them, though. I read a page on slavery once for APUSH, and that was all. Of course, I didn't study for Spanish either (lol what AP Chem, I didn't take that class). You'd think I would have learned my lesson for this year.
Sure did work out in the end though!
It even worked out in math. I'm really surprised. I got a four on the final for Calc, and I never actually failed any of our practice tests, and now I can skip math placement tests for college because of my passing score. So I'm really happy. Maybe I'm not actually as bad at math as I thought. The gene in our family didn't skip me after all! (ugh there really is a gene though I mean Mom got a 790 on her math SAT and took crazy hard classes in college and stuff and then of course Zac is a math major– sort of– and presented his research at an international convention and all that, and Kitty's been getting perfect scores on her math tests and etc etc etc.) I'm in such a mood for shameless self-aggrandizement right now! I want someone to laud me and tell me how wonderful I am! Or at the very least, I want someone to know how I did. Well, I guess our teacher will know. Collegeboard sends the scores back to the school. I'd like to think that he knows already, and this is a terribly conceited thing to say, but I got the highest score on every single multiple choice test we ever took except for one (we took plenty too), and I never wrote an essay that scored below a six (actually, my scores steadily increased throughout the year, and I ended with solid nines). Not only that, but I got perfect scores on everything (individual) we ever did. I think I ended the class with 110% or something like that. So, if he wanted to predict our scores, hopefully he would think of me with a five in mind.
Ya know, everyone in my class started to respect me after awhile, and that was part of the reason I loved it so much. Of course, I've been in honors/AP classes since freshman year, and I've always had at least a 3.9, but I don't think most people really looked at me as "smart" because of my voice and my clothes and my looks. In fact, everyone who didn't know me very well thought I was quite a bimbo. So when everyone universally started to respect me for the first time in my life, it really changed how I saw the world. I stopped hating everyone so much, and started feeling better about myself too, and just in general sort of un-embittered myself. I don't think you can imagine how wonderful it was to have people realize that I was the top student in the class, not the bottom, and that I was someone whom they could always ask for help. I've never been thought of as the leader in anything, not in school, nor at home, or in fact anywhere, and it seems like such a small thing to be recognized, but it was (and is) so enormous to me. Hearing people say things like, "She knows everything," or "Don't worry, Jasmine can do it," just made my day, and because people said things like that almost every day, it was impossible not to be happy in that class. Of course, it would have been impossible not to be happy in the class anyway, just because everything about it was so superlatively perfect, but you know. I loved Lit so much that I sometimes told myself it was coming when I got up in the morning, to give myself a reason to get out of bed. Oh goodness, why am I such a silly person? I'm going to blush with shame twenty years hence when I read this to realize how easily affected I was (am?). Well, nothing to do about that. That's Future Jasmine's problem, and she can deal with it herself, being the mature adult she is.
Okay, that's all about that. Man, I wrote a lot. I felt like it had to be said, though.
Oh! I really can go to Ohio State! I didn't dare make plans for it or anything, because I didn't want to get my hopes up for nothing, but we all talked about it, and we agreed that if Dad can stop spending hundreds of dollars a month on quack supplements, we can afford to send me there. I'm so happy and excited! I feel (rather melodramatically) as if Beatrice had pulled me off the road to perdition at the last minute. Is that the best allusion to use? It's not. Oh dear. Well, it was what sprang to mind. Now I can go to a real university, and get a real education, and have a real shot at life! I've called and set up orientation, and I've been talking to my roommate on facebook, and we're looking into plane tickets, and oh my goodness, it looks like it's actually going to happen! When I remember what's happening, I smile goofily to myself, and bounce up and down internally. The only fly in my ointment is the fact that I'm taking up so much of the family resources for so little gain. I feel so terrible whenever anyone mentions money in any context that I would almost be willing to go to Long Beach after all, were my ego not so massive. Ugh, I'm such a horrible human being. I wish I were more saintly. Well, no, I don't really. Or do I? Oh no, what a tangled web! Whee, college, though! I'm on an emotional rollercoaster every day, and there is no denying it.
I went to market night with Kitty, and a whole bunch of our afternoon students at the community college were there. So we got away from them, and then Sonia showed up. Bluh. Don't get me wrong, I love her dearly, and I'm going to miss her like fresh meat needs salt when I leave, but sometimes I don't want to talk to anyone. You know? Kitty is the same way. In fact, all our family is. I suppose we're extraordinarily lucky that we don't mind each others' company at any given time. I know many families don't have that privilege.
I'm almost done with work at the community college, speaking (ish) of which! At least, I'm almost done with the ESL morning class. My last day is next Thursday. It's great and all, but I'm really very ready to be done. The two teachers are horrible, and I don't think I could take more of their antics than I had to. Yesterday, the lady went over an eight-line dialogue for twenty minutes, and when she noticed that the students weren't engaged, she yelled at them. One brave soul told her that it was boring because it was too easy, and she flipped out. She screamed for twenty minutes more about how he obviously didn't understand anything, because he couldn't possibly think it was easy otherwise, how stupid the class was in general, how no one was allowed to find the lesson boring, how it was their own fault if they were bored because their minds were limited, and so on and so on, while the other teacher slipped in snide remarks here and there. Once she was done, she went on with the "lesson," which really wasn't a lesson at all, but stopped every other sentence to deliver some cutting remark. The poor students were terrified, especially mine, because she didn't understand why she was being yelled at, and the teachers got mad at them for that too. None of them talk in class anymore, because if they do, they get yelled at, misunderstood, or made fun of, usually all three, by both teachers, and they don't dare ask questions either. It's really a bad situation. Today, one of the girls was late because the bus was late, so the teacher (the man) said loudly, "You're LATE! Next time, buy a Ferrari. Oh wait– YOU CAN'T!" Then he laughed for about a minute. The other teacher thought this was pretty funny, and joined in with some snippy rejoinder about the working class. Meanwhile, everyone else was sitting in awkward silence. And it's not like the teachers are any good example of timeliness either! The lady is always at least fifteen minutes late to class, and the man is never the first one in the room. It's so annoying. I mean, if I can drag myself there on time, surely anyone should be able to. The afternoon class is marginally better, because Kitty and I are in charge of it. On the other hand, it comprises a roomful of twelve-year-old boys, none of whom speak English to any degree, and it lasts for twice as long. I suppose I need to brush up on my sports terminology. Basketball is the one with bases, right?
I suppose I really should go to bed. It's 1:39, and everyone else is asleep already. If the CIA were going to come and catch me, now would be the time. And as I don't want them to catch me, I better go up to bed and safety so that I can live to talk about basketball another day. Goodnight now!

All about my life

Oh, goodness me, it's the 200th post! I feel like I should have something spectacular to say, but I don't. Can't someone write a song about this moment or something?
I don't have work tomorrow, yay! The students have their semester final, and there's no need for a TA during something like that, so I get to stay home and sleep in. I'm really happy. Sleep may be for the weak, but it makes the weak strong, and that's something to which no one could object. I hardly know what I'm saying. Maybe I will later.
We had a practice SAT English test for the high school age CKC kids today, in lieu of a regular music class (since it is summer). Since Mom had to do some other stuff, I did the teaching, and really, I was happy to do it, but two of the other teen mentors (neither of whom are remotely qualified to be mentors) decided to take the test too, and they were the most obstreperous and irritating specimens I have ever had the misfortune to direct. The little pustules sat there talking and disrupting everything and not listening and making complete nuisances of themselves. I'd be more willing to tolerate their rudeness if they were smart, but unfortunately, they are both remarkably dim. All the CKC kids tested circles around them, and bear in mind, if you will, that the CKC kids don't have the benefit of what could be called "schooling." I mean, let's be real here, the San Bernardino school system is horrible. From what we've heard from the kids, the teachers are mean and abuse their power, and never teach anything. One girl nearly failed her English class because the teacher didn't like her. Anyway, the kids are mostly pretty bright, so they were doing well, and understanding why they were doing well, while the two poster children for white privilege were demonstrating very little aptitude for anything but insubordination. Ugh, it was so annoying. I don't think I could ever be a teacher.
Ya know, I got a perfect 800 on the English portion of my SAT, and a 790 (ugh) on writing, and it was as easy as Warrant's cherry pie (which I'm listening to, coincidentally), and I honestly don't understand how it's possible to do so abysmally. I really don't. It seems like it should just be intuitive, you know? I suppose for literature and stuff, it's a little harder (though not necessarily much), but for stuff like this, it seems like you should be able to just know the answers.
I feel like a jerk now. I'm so puffed up, ugh.
But I really don't understand why it's hard.
The other day, Austin asked me what I would do if someone wrote a song for me. Of course, this has already happened, but I felt like it would be rude to say that, so I said it would be flattering and lovely, don'tcha know, or something of that ilk. Then he asked if I would still like it if it was really bad, and I said of course. Cuz I would. And that was that. But it was cute. He's cute. Everything he says is so funny and adorable, and then I reply with stupid puns, or allusions, or weird things in general, and it makes me realize how good it is that I'm not ugly, because if I was, I would have nothing going for me. He always replies to me, though, and seems happy to talk to me, so maybe it's not so bad after all. I mean, I would love to have a conversation partner like me. We could talk about literature all day and I wouldn't have to reply on time, because I wouldn't either. Ooh, that sounded like a science fiction story or something. But it's true, I never do text back on time.
Oh my goodness, I went to listen to Paradise City on Youtube (don't laugh at me, it's a classic for a reason), and there was this ad before it played, and it was a full length rendition of Trouble by Taylor Swift, only written about stubble, like mustaches (or femme staches I guess), and I thought it was going to be some clever thing for wax or something, but it was for some shoddy amateur band, and I was so disappointed. I guess I should be supportive of my fellow artists and all, and really, they did a good job, but it would have been funnier if it were some real product. That's expensive, though. We learned about that in Econ when we did marketing and game strategies. It was very interesting. Actually, now that I mention it, how did this amateur band get the funding to do that? Maybe they embezzled it from a mustache-waxing company.
Ethan put the pictures up from my senior recital, and there was one of me, him, Francisco, Austin, and Chris, and I tagged all of us (since he hadn't). The poster of the photo has to approve the tags, so that was Ethan's job. He approved all of them except Francisco's. And that's because during intermission, when I was getting water, both of them followed me out to the lobby, and we were talking. Then Francisco asked me in a very seductive voice if he could ask me a question. Ethan faded courteously into the background (which was very polite of him, I must say), and Francisco looked me deep in the eyes, and said, "Jasmine, can I have a ride?" Poor Ethan thought he was asking me out, and I guess he thought that was presumptuous. But that's the story. I don't really know why I decided to share that with you. I suppose I just thought it was funny. I was really happy that Francisco came to my recital, though! I was so happy to see him! I will never get tired of being with that silly twerp. Maybe he can be my Maid of Honor someday.
Speaking of which (ish)! Our family got hired to play a wedding! We were playing for a local church, and this lovely couple saw us and hired us. They're so cute, it's vastly inspirational. I also appreciate that they're paying us. They asked us to do music for about half an hour for the prelude and for the reception as well as for the ceremony, so it's quite a job. Still, none of us mind, because it's fun to play chamber music. The bride wants me to sing The Prayer at the reception, and I hope no one will be listening to it, because we had to arrange it ourselves, and there are some very questionable elements to it. Ooh, but we thought they wanted us to do Bless This House, which is an old hymn, so I arranged it for violin, viola, cello, and voice (me), and it was beautiful. I even wrote my own bridge. But it turns out one of their friends is doing it! I was excessively disappointed. Maybe I will sell the rights to my arrangement on eBay for millions of dollars and pay for college.
Mom and I have to play in church this Saturday, because the wife of the director accompanied me at my recital for free, and now we have to be on call as the requisite violists of the town whether we want to or not. I actually don't mind, though. Though it makes me sound like the haughtiest of prospective divas to say it, I like to perform. And I feel like it's my duty to do it. So that's settled. I do wonder what it is we're playing though.
I have another gig too, only no one knows about it save me! Roger texted me really late last night asking me to help the choir at his church next month because they're really bad. I said yes, because it's him, and because I miss singing in choir already. But now that I think of it, it might be a tad bit awkward. I really don't know anyone my age at his church (though I do know a lot of the adults from volunteering at the hospital with them), because I haven't played in the orchestra there in years. Come to think of it, I don't think there's been an orchestra in years. I mean, I've soloed there with my family and stuff, but that's not really conducive to making lasting friendships, you see? So I'm not sure what I'll do. Wellp, it's not like I've never been the Kevin of a choral group before. I suppose this is what I must do. Some men are born Kevins, some achieve Kevin status, and some have Kevin-hood thrust upon them. It is my lot in life to bear this load, and I will bear it uncomplainingly until the day I start making a fuss about it. Maybe it will be good for my poetry.
On Kevin-hood:
Oh my heart
Oh my soul
Kevin is my name
And like the pale waters' transcendent snow
The flush fades from the faces of the sky
While the rippling on stone
And the ring of silver
 Flashes into my consciousness
Like starlight.
Well, I'll be. That's very good. I never knew I was such a modernist. I should write a proper book and become known in all the literary circles. I can wear a beret and get tattoos of dragons and start smoking. I will even get a new tumblr to deal with my newfound passion. It will be a lifestyle, and none can tell me different.
I realize I talk about literature and poetry and English way too much. I should branch out some more; I must be very annoying.
SO! How bout them Dodgers, huh? Bet chu didn't know they was 24 and 0 this season! They've got a real shot at the gold, especially after that play of Kobe's in the last inning. I gotta hand it to em, they really know how to utilize their halfbacks. That's strategy right there! They've got a chance in the World Cup this year too, if the San Francisco Stallions don't beat them to the punch. I bet the statisticians are having a field day with em too!
Field day, that's a pun, you see.
Okeydokey, this is more abrupt than the end of Heart of Darkness, but it's time for me to hit the hay. Kitty just went to bed, and I'm afraid the CIA will see me down here by myself and come in to kidnap me, so I'm going to foil their dastardly plans by going upstairs and hiding under the sheets. I'm a real warrior, I am. Okay, goodnight!

ESL and AP (them's acronyms)

I finally got my AP scores, and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty.
By that, I mean it was beautiful. WHUDDUP.
I didn't want to raise my hopes for nothing, so I didn't expect fives on anything except Lit, and I thought I wouldn't pass Calc either, but I did! I passed it! I got fives on Art History and Government too, and a four on Econ. Oh yes, I got a five for Lit too, of course. Whee! I'm so excited! I was really afraid for calc, actually, cuz the multiple choice was really hard, and I messed up one of the free responses so badly that all I could do was write a bunch of math puns on it and hope for the best. But I guess the other ones were acceptable, or at least acceptable enough to let me pass. Maybe I can place out of some math classes in college now! Ya know, I was also really worried about Econ, actually, because although I really like it, I'm not great at it, and I didn't study for it, and there was a lot of foreign exchange stuff (which I'm really not great at) (ew ungrammatical). One of the free response questions was pretty weird, too. But there was a good number of questions about the various curves and graphs and shifters and whatnot, and I'm fabulous with those, so that saved me. Government and Art History seemed too easy to me; it seemed like I knew every single multiple choice question, and the FRQs weren't too hard either, so I thought I'd failed them (even though deep down in the bottom of my soul where I keep the things I don't want to admit, I was pretty sure I'd done really well). But, well-p, seems they really were easy. There weren't any unusual court cases on the Government exam, I mean, I knew all of them, and I might know a lot of court cases, but I don't know the half of it, you see what I mean? There was also a lot of stuff about the courts, and since that's what I want out of life (to be on the administering end, not the receiving end), I know that pretty well. But, you know, in general, I'm really pretty good at government. I like it, you see. And it's easy. I never studied, except a little bit on tour, and I hadn't had the class since first semester, and I still know the stuff. So there ya have it. Speaking of easy stuff, the Lit exam was extremely disappointing. I love taking tests in English, easy or not, but still, I feel like they could have stepped up their game. There was only one question about rhyme scheme, and only one about meter, and both were very conventional. I was hoping they would have some big blow-out extravaganza with spondees and anapests and forms which haven't been in common use since sixteenth-century France, but nope, they asked about terza rima or something (I can't remember precisely what it was). And the analysis was so shallow! The exercises we did in class were much more fun. There wasn't a single challenging question on there (maybe there was one), and it was almost as bad as the SAT. The free response was a bit better, since I got to do my own analysis, but the questions were exactly like the ones we'd had in class, maybe easier. I won't deny I had fun, though; I was actually sorry when the proctors called time. And, that was that. We were really well prepared, I think. I will fight anyone who dares dispute that AP Lit is the best and most awesome class that ever came across my path in this life of mine.
So. Three fives, a four, and a three. I won't deny that I would have done better if I'd studied (especially in Calc), but I think it's a job well done overall.
I should probably go take a shower. I have work in the morning, and I look like a goon. But my head hurts too much to move. Ugh. This is why it's the best of times and the worst of times. Perhaps taking a shower will help my head. Do you think that could be the case? It still seems like a bit too troublesome to be worth my very valuable time.
Ooh, I never expounded upon my new job! It's a job, it is. There's this community college in the next town over, and it's got more problems than the Republican party. Mom did a series of lectures there for awhile, but she stopped when they refused to pay her – and that's the least of their worries. But anyway, since they have so many problems, they are in constant need of teachers, and they were perfectly amenable to the idea of hiring me. I do get paid, fortunately (albeit rather sporadically), and even though I make more teaching violin, it's good money, and good experience to boot. I'm technically a tutor for one particularly lost ESL student, but my job title never bothered anyone. I help the other students in the class, act as the TA, and occasionally, even teach the class (which brings the grand total of teachers in the class up to three). It's interesting, though, and I'm wondering now if I could teach ESL in order to pay off my student loans. Well, okay, I'm pretty positive I could teach ESL. I'd do a better job than the teachers they have at the school, anyway. Our current "professor," a professional farmer whose son is the one and only secretary and whose level of English is only slightly higher than the students', never follows the lesson plan, and never teaches anything. The class is called Speaking and Listening, so one would assume something of that nature would be going on, right? Not at our school! The teacher has gotten rid of all the tapes, and asks the students to write simple sentences for the entire time, sentences which he never checks or asks them to read. And this might not seem so bad, but they're literally, "He is singing" and "I'm going to the store." This is stuff the students already know, you see, and he never gives them vocab words, or helps with grammar (which he spells "gramer") or anything. The curriculum isn't that bad; it has a lot of stuff the students don't know and should learn, but he doesn't pay attention to it beyond looking at the pictures and trying to teach them what they are. They know what the pictures are, thanks, they're grown men and women, not babies! On Wednesday, he tried to explain what a bank was (spectacularly unsuccessfully, may I add). As if this wasn't bad enough, he's unbelievably rude to the poor people. Whenever they say anything (which is rare), he "corrects" it to something that is either incorrect or trivially different, picks on their accents, and mocks them in general. He's always poking fun at them, in a very rude way, and he's incredibly racist. There's not much I can do, because I'm younger than everyone in the room by a good ten years, and it's not my job to interfere. What I'd like to do is teach the class myself, but that doesn't help my student much, and my responsibility is to her. Ugh, it's just so frustrating though! Now, they're starting up a summer program for kids who want to learn English, and they want me to take care of it, so I start that on Monday, or tomorrow, I guess. They're okay with Kitty helping, since taking care of sixty twelve-year-olds is one of my biggest nightmares, and she doesn't mind (literally, though, there are sixty-something kids signed up). I don't know how I'm going to deal with this. I need to find a good outfit. Something that will garner respect, and make them want to do what I tell them. No little girl dresses for me! Unfortunately, little girl dresses (and skirts and ballet flats and whatnot) constitute 95% of my wardrobe. Maybe I should go for the sexy secretary look. I can wear a pencil skirt and a blouse and heels (I'll have to borrow the heels from Kitty). I can put my hair in a bun, too. Oh yeah, babe. This is sartorial Sparta.
Ugh, now Dad has settled himself down on the couch and is holding forth on how much he is able to sweat, and indeed, how much he sweated today. I suppose it's very interesting and educational (to some, at least). Perhaps he could publish his findings in a book.
Well, no more stalling, now. It's time for me to go get clean. This is it, Jasmine. Time to get up. Let's go. Yup. Up, up. Clay lies still, but blood's a rover, breath's a ware that will not keep. Up lad, when the journey's over, there'll be time enough to sleep! Incidentally, I quote that poem to myself every day when I'm trying to get out of bed. Anyway! Up you go! Let's show a leg there! Come on! Hop to it! Vamoose! Maybe I will be an inspirational speaker someday.

America, America

Happy Independence Day! That's what Dad has taken to calling it. He is of the mind that "Fourth of July" is not specific enough and might cause confusion to those of us born outside privilege. He might be right. I don't know. I only wish he would stop lecturing everyone about it. We're going to go over to our grandma's house in about half an hour to eat dinner and watch fireworks. Unfortunately, we invited our cousin Darren over, which would be a good thing, only he has elected to bring his friends with him. I'm contemplating faking a disease to get out of this. Actually, that wouldn't be too hard, since my head has been aching viciously for three days now. I should probably take a Tylenol so that no one will suspect my identity as Lady with a Malady. It wouldn't do to appear weak, you see, as I am a warrior and I eat weakness for breakfast. But I never like to take pills, since I always feel like it will build up resistance against when I truly need succor, so I'm really reluctant. I only take stuff when my friend Tom comes to call and makes me feel like Boromir at the end of Fellowship of the Ring. But where was I? Ah, yes, Darren and Co. What in the world am I going to do? Maybe I should get over my irrational fear of all unknown individuals. That might be a good place to start. How will I ever make friends in college with this attitude? I will be the Kevin of the campus and no one will cheer for me at graduation! Perhaps by then I will have become normal and be a truly acceptable member of society. That would be good. I might even stop trying to quote poetry at people all the time. Oh dear, I hope I don't do that at dinner today. "Jayne," will say one thoughtless soul, "Will you please pass the salt?" "It's Jasmine, actually," I will reply with an awkward chuckle, "But what's in a name? A rose by any other name would–" "Shut up!" will come a unanimous response, and I will return to my burger as red as the rose I just espoused. Or what if the subject comes to art (somehow)? I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself from popping in, completely unwanted, and messing up a nice, low-key, discussion. "So," says one of the friends, "I was in Italy this summer, and I was looking at those lovely High Renaissance paintings, you know, like Bronzino and Pontormo, and I thought to myself, what a wonderful world!" "Excuse me," I pipe up, "Bronzino and Pontormo are actually Mannerist!" Everyone turns to give me a nasty glare. "Jasmine," says Dad in a disappointed manner, "Would you like to go walk outside and see if the fireworks have started yet?" "Yeah," chimes in the friend whom I've just slighted, "And can you stay out there until they start?" Sadly, with tears of awkwardness dripping down my now-greasy Kevin nose, I wobble outside and stay there the rest of the night until the police come along and arrest me for loitering with the intent to cosplay and I have to go to court, and against Gideon v. Wainwright, be my own lawyer because I'm so awkward that no one will want to represent me. And as I lie in the depths of my jail cell, pondering the inadequacies of the American justice system towards awkward individuals such as Kevin and myself, I will curse the day that Darren decided to be a clever and gregarious lad, for by bringing his friends to dinner, he will have brought me to my ruin.
No but really, I'm worried about this. I don't think I'll say anything awkward, which is a bonus, only this happy fact will occur because I'll be too shy to say anything at all. AND I HATE EATING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE! When I go to parties or on dates or whatever, I'm always the last one done because I make sure to only take bites when no one's watching (also because I'm just really slow in general, but that's beside the point). And then I have to pretend I don't want the rest of my food, even though I do, because I don't want to be the only one eating. It's terrible. And now these boorish bores are going to take my joy away from me as they sit and simper and preside over everything like college age Stanley Kowalskis. Oh goodness me, I am like to die. I'm really diddley-darn hungry too. Phooey!
We made pies today, Mom, Kitty, and I did, which I found to be bothersome, since it enforces the old-fashioned patriarchal stereotypes still all too present in this overbearing society of ours, but I suppose it's not, really, since Kitty and Mom like to do it. I don't particularly, but I feel like it's my duty. Usually, they don't ask me to cook, because I really am atrocious at it, but I guess they were feeling the crunch today, and invited me into the inner sanctum. Did you know a tablespoon is not the same as an eating spoon? I didn't. I thought their measurements were one and the same. I had to make lemon zest, so I peeled a lemon, but apparently you're supposed to grate the lemon so the pieces are small enough. The next hour-and-a-half of my life was spent cutting pieces of lemon skin into tiny pieces. Man, I guess I learn something everyday, but I really don't see how I'm ever going to be able to take care of myself at this rate.
I found a setting of "Barter" by Sara Teasdale for choir. Yay! I really want to sing it, but I don't know whom I can sing it with. Choirs don't grow in my back pocket, you see. But it's still lovely to have it. I just thought I'd share.
Poor little Tangent, one of the guinea pigs (sister of Sine and Cosine) is having trouble with her teeth. She can only eat soft food, so we have to make special meals for her. Anyway, Dad thinks she depends on him for survival, and is clipping her teeth right now. He also likes to minister unto her with shea butter and iodine and sundry other "treatments" he buys off the internet. Poor little Tangent.
Okeydokey, it's already past the time when we were supposed to be there, and no one's made the slightest move to get ready. I suppose I should go spur them on. Bye now! Happy Fourth!

Short and bitter

Oh, jiminy crickets. It's as hot as my booty in here. I think I'm like to die. We can't turn on the air conditioner, though, because I've strictly forbidden it, and to turn it on now would make me a hypocrite of the highest order, do you see? And you know, it seems like it would be good that I don't sweat, I mean, it's so ladylike and all, but it means there's no way for me to cool down, so my situation is as dire as a fire. I think I'm melting into a puddle of vanity and chapstick, in a suitably Wicked Witch of the West sort of way, and it's not a pleasant experience. I mean, really. I wish I were able to control the weather. Wouldn't that be something, now? I could make it snow on Ethan when he was least expecting it. Maybe I will google pictures of cold things and see if I can cool myself vicariously in that way.
Ooh! So, did you know the grouper fish can carry a potent dose of ciguatoxin, which makes cold things feel hot and hot things feel cold? That's a pretty cool ability, not gonna lie. Icy so many possibilities for it. It's almost enough to chill the blood in my veins, I mean snow big deal for the grouper if someone gets in its way. It freeze itself from all danger in a (cold) snap! It's such an unassuming-looking little thing, too. How poetic!
Oh dear, oh dear. Dad is having a hissy fit again. Why must he do these things? It makes everything so dratted problematic. Wellp, better accede to his wishes, or he'll be on us all night. He probably will be anyway, but at least now I can have the satisfaction of feeling like a martyr. Maybe some kind neo-Romanesque architect will build a lovely neo-Galla Placidia for me.
Ok bye now qurl lol

Oh dear.

Oh phooey on the world. I'm so sick of everything. I don't know what I'm going to do about it either. Everything makes me mad, and then I get mad because I'm mad, and then it all goes downhill from there. I might have to go to a community college (CSULB, really, but it's as good as a community college to me), and that erases all chance I have of a future. My summer job is killing my soul, and there's nothing I can do about it, Dad is so obsessed with Bill Deagol that he can barely hold a normal conversation anymore, and he can't stop spending money on random products "Doctor" Bill endorses, Mom is so stressed that I hardly dare talk to her anymore, and I can't get Sungmin to wear deodorant. And I sound like such a whiny first worlder that I'm ashamed of myself for being mad. What is the matter with me? Right now, Mom and Dad are finishing up their dinner, and they're masticating like horses, groaning as if the world is ending between sloppy bites, and I know it shouldn't bother me, but it's my pet peeve, and I'm trying not to tear out my hair. What in the world, oh merciful goodness, I am quite literally a terrible human being. I shouldn't spend so much time reading indignant blogs, but I do, and now I'm almost ashamed to be alive. I mean, check your privilege, bi-atch! I don't think this is the point of equality. OR IS IT? Maybe it's good that I feel that my life is a blot of shame on the face of the earth! Oh bummer, I don't know anymore.
No but like I think I've gotten increasingly paranoid as the years have gone by. I'm eighteen years old and a graduate of high school, shouldn't I not be worried about divine retribution for heretical thoughts anymore? It seems so childish. Yet on the other hand, there could be something in it! It used to be that I would only be petrified at night, when everyone else was asleep, and I was half afraid a serial killer might come in through the window and off me. But now I'm scared at random intervals of the day too! What if I unknowingly commit the unpardonable sin? What if I commit it knowingly? What if I've already committed it? And if I'm struck dead, will I go to hell? SDA folk don't believe in hell, per se though, so at least I don't have to worry about a Dante-style inferno. Man, this seems silly when I write it all out. That won't stop me from lying awake in terror for an hour later tonight though.
While we're on the tack of things that bother me incessantly, what the hell am I going to do about college? I've committed to OSU and CSULB, which is fine, by the way, since colleges don't really care if you drop out at registration, I guess, and PUC is always an option, because I have until like August to make a decision. Anyway, I have my heart set on OSU, or at least as much as I can, since no matter how famous it is, or how well-respected, no one can convince me that it's not just another state school, but I feel pretty sure that I won't be able to go there. I mean, I have a scholarship, yes, and federal loans, and all that, but it's still more than a Cal State. And of course, there are plane tickets to consider, and all that. So I guess what we're asking here is this: Is my pride worth changing the status quo of my family's lifestyle? And of course, the answer is no. No matter how strongly I feel about it, no matter how certain I am that going to a community college will affect me adversely forever, I can't ask them to change a thing. How could I call myself a human being if I did that? It's so wrong, you know? Kitty and Sungmin might have to give up going to the performing arts academy, and they might have to limit violin and cello lessons for awhile. Dad might have to give up jiu jitsu, and really, that's his only outlet. Mom is stressed enough as it is; I couldn't add to that. And most of all, how could we pay for Juilliard for Zac? He didn't get any scholarships. If he had wanted to be self-sacrificing, he could have taken the free ride to USC, but you don't turn down Julliard, and anyway, why should he give up his academic dreams for us? I really shouldn't even be complaining about this. I get to go to college, they even have my major, I get to stay in California, and everyone's happy. Except me. THAT SHOULDN'T MATTER. OH MY GOODNESS. Why am I such a prick? I know it would affect me, though. I graduated in the top ten percent of my class, with all four possible seals on my diploma, and a 4.2 GPA, but I still feel like I don't deserve it just because I had a 3.9 second semester of junior year and didn't get the golden tassel for a universal 4.0. If something that small affects me that much, I just know going to a community college for my BA will drive me crazy. Ohio State certainly is no Byzantium, but it was the only option I could stand. I just sort of felt like this was my way out, I guess. Like, if I wanted to be overdramatic, I'd say it was my last hope. I've never felt like I was qualified to go to college ever since I got rejected from USC (I got into others, of course, but they're out of our price range, and even if they weren't, I wouldn't want to go, and so they don't feel real, you see), and if I went to a Cal State, it would be like the final affirmation that I'm a complete failure. Ohio State was my one chance to make good. It was like my tabula rasa- I could finally get away from the stigma of being the useless one in the family, go to a place where I could build up a whole new life for myself, and finally achieve something. It may be a crappy state school, but it's well known, and it's a real college at least (even if its reputation is based solely on the strength of its football team). I felt like I could get over the ridiculous personal problems I have, and finally do something right. But I can't do that, because it's too expensive. What happens to a dream deferred? It goes to a Cal State, I suppose.

Je-june

Cuz it's June, you see. I'm so hilarious I could just write an epic poem about myself.
You know, I really wanted to have an entry from each month of the year this year, because that would be really cool, kind of like a calendar of the events of my life (whut) but I messed that up, because I didn't write in May. I'm sadder about this than I logically should be; now I have to wait a whole year to try again. May I just say- this is a year without rain. No, that didn't work. I was trying to go for a pun, but it failed. I just am striking out here, aren't I!
Speaking of puns, here is a lovely exchange of wit and wisdom that Sonia and I exchanged while she was whiling away the hours in the airport.
Me: Best of luck in your travels, and may you find felicity and food wherever you go! :D
Sonia: I hope felicity is a cute guy!
Me: Felicity is the cutest of guys!
Sonia: I'll tell him you said hi. :D
Me: Tell him I quite admire his fly attitude ;D
Sonia: I'm sure it will lift his spirits.
Me: It's plane to see; compliments make everyone feel highly flattered.
Sonia: I like making people so happy it feels like they're walking on air.
Me: It makes one feel like an oxygentleman.
Sonia: These cute guys really know how to get you off the ground!
Me: They don't even need wingmen!
Sonia: But I bet they'd make you feel soar in the morning!
Me: That's the uplifting part of the experience. ;D
Sonia: It feels like we're high, man.
Me: Dude, I believe I can fly...
Sonia: I believe I can touch the sky!
Isn't that beautiful? We are such clever and witty souls. And the best part is that we have these brilliant conversations on a very frequent basis. Here is another piece, lovingly transcripted from my phone (is 'transcripted' not a word? Oh dear), just for you.
Sonia: Dude, apparently there's a font called "Coolvetica."
Me: That's font-tastic!
Sonia: It's totally Coolvetica bro!
Me: That was ComicSans-ical. :D
Sonia: Tubes New Roman, dudevetica! (we always describe things as "tubular" you see)
Sonia: Like an Arial backflip!
Me: We're so cool, somone might call the serif on us.
Sonia: We'd have to hide behind the papyrus!
Me: I hope they wouldn't type cast us as being too bold!
Sonia: It highlights our brilliance.
Me: Now that's what I'm essay-ing!
Sonia: They see me scrollin', they hatin'.
Me: They see me writin dirty.
Sonia: What the helvetica!
Me: Itallic like the thug I am baybay!
Me: Incidentally, "WHat the helvetica" could be the name of a sitcom.
Sonia: It's a show about a font designer! "Steve, what are you doing?" "I font love in a hopeless space!"
Me: "Aww, Steve you are such a spacebar!" "But Jim, you have to read the subtext!" (laughtrack) I really think this could be the next big break.
Sonia: And a highlight clip! With bonus attachments!
We're wonderful, you see. We really are. If the world doesn't realize our brilliance, that's just because we are uncommon men. I don't like texting, though. Which is a shame, really, because I have to do it quite a lot. Francisco is always talking to me (which isn't bad, because he's gotten used to me not replying to him, and often he doesn't reply to me either), and Sonia and Allie, of course, and Bonnie and Molly, and all them, and then I have these two new guys too. One of them is the most beautiful man in the world, and I'm convinced of this. His name is Austin, and he looks airbrushed. I first noticed him when we were sophomores, but I was too shy to talk to him, because he was so incredibly gorgeous. But then I started dating Alex last year, and they're good friends, so I got to know him then (which is quite a weird way of fulfilling a dream of a cute guy but oh well), and I realized just how attractive he was, and how funny, and all that, especially compared with my boo, who could barely string together a grammatical sentence without prompting. Then even after Alex and I broke up, I still stayed friends with all his friends, and Kitty's prospective beau is in that group, so that gave us a tie also. That was so rambling and terrible, ugh. Anyway, at the end of the year, I got him to sign my yearbook, and he said that he noticed me when we were sophomores, but he didn't know how to talk to me (and a bunch of other flirty stuff) and ever since then we've been texting every day. And that's my saga. Now where was I? Ah yes. So, the other guy is much less interesting. His name is Ethan, but he is in no way a Last Puritan. He asked me to prom in front of everyone in my Art History class (he's the TA), and I turned him down made him late to class. He's asked me out at least four times since then, and it may be more, but I'm not good at determining when someone is asking me out, so it's difficult to say. I guess he's not good at determining when someone is turning him down, though, so maybe we're even. He's so annoying! I don't even! He has like a 2.0 or something, because he "doesn't try," although I'm pretty sure that trying isn't the issue here. He's taking a lot of AP classes, which I would admire, except he's not doing well in any of them. Even if he did understand the material (which would take a miracle in of itself), he still would barely be passing, because he does quite literally nothing. He's still the most arrogant little conceited prick on earth, though, and never misses an opportunity to pump himself up. And he has that annoying way of flirting that some guys have where he tries to make me feel bad about myself all the time. Obviously, it'll take more than a few immature and poorly-crafted jibes from a prepubescent ne'er do well to make a dent in my ego, but it's really irritating to have to listen to his nasally snort all the livelong day. Now, don't think I'm some sort of elitist snob (although I am) for disliking the poor guy just because he isn't smart; it's his personality that bothers me the most. And his weaselly looks. And his grating voice. And his stalkerish persistence. And the fact that he's a junior. And his inability to grasp anything but the simplest concepts. Oh no, that was about his intellect (or lack thereof) wasn't it. Man! Well, I guess I'm a snob then.
Well. That was quite a bit about my social life. How terrible. How vapid. How trite. Next I'll be talking about my personal problems. Oh wait...
You know, it feels so weird to be out of high school. I still haven't quite grasped the idea that I've graduated and am really and truly a man of the world. Like, am I supposed to have an twinge of pride at some point? Or of excitement? Cuz really, I feel nothing. Maybe I have no emotions. Wouldn't that be interesting? I don't think that's true, though, because I'm pretty sure irritation is an emotion, and that is my modus operandi in this vain vale of tears. Maybe next year, in the midst of a lecture on morphology, or perhaps a presentation on the innate similarities of the Romance languages, I'll suddenly have a flash of realization, stand up, and call out to the world that I know where I am. That would be pretty cool. People would have something to put on their tumblrs.
Man, that Tumblr though! It's like my life force now. I was late to the races in getting one, but now that I have one, I don't know what I'd do without it. Now I can look at cats and recipes and gay porn and indignant protests against certain political parties' platforms all the livelong day! Whoever thought up the idea of the website was a genius. I would like to shake his hand.
Now, although I should like to stay up later than this, I really shouldn't, because our first pair of students of the day have kindly and helpfully decided to move their lesson to 10 in the morning so they can go off and party in the afternoon. The little titches. How dare they have a social life? Doesn't go with the ascetic lifestyle that we champion here, you see. Anyway, time for bed. Goodnight!
Ooh, here's my chance. Goodnight? Oh no! The hour is ill/which severs those it should unite/let us remain together still/then in will be goodnight!
Call me a romantic, but I love Shelley (zing!). Ok, but good night for real.