True rage is mine.

I hate dramatic irony with an unmitigated passion. It annoys me the world over, and makes me want to throw things at white people. Like, I mean, it's like when you're watching a movie, and you know if the person goes into the decrepit old mansion filled with ghosts, they are going to be killed, and then the dumbutt does it anyway! It should elicit cries from the audience of "Dumbass, no!" and "Don't leave Verona!" but no one ever objects. In fact, worthy souls such as English teachers and nerdy suck-ups like it! They say it's so "ironic" (which it is) and "fun and suspenseful" (which it is not). They are probably the kind of people who enjoy watching Honey Boo Boo and Hoarders. Literary characters are people too, and it's not any more fun to watch them ruin their lives than it is for real life people! (Did that even make grammatical sense?) So, all in all, dramatic irony is one device that should never have been devised. (zing) I got a 29 on my ACT. That too, makes me angry enough to go on a Caucasian-punching spree. I got a 29! That's terrible! I have brought shame and dishonor upon my clan forevermore. Maybe I will cut off all my hair, join the army, and defeat the Huns, thereby saving China. I could finally get in shape, anyway. Oh dear, but then I'd have to marry a prince. Don't really wanna do that... Hmm. What can I do? I suppose I've no recourse but to become a stripper. I will change my name to Sensual Stevia (Steve to the ladeez) and be akin to all the Sugar Pies and In-the-Sacharinnes that go prancing through single men's wet dreams (do men have those?). I will be a big success and open my own strip club one day and be the badass woman who hangs around in a fur coat smoking foreign cigarettes and making deals with other badasses. It will be quite lucrative. Maybe, if I play my cards right, I will still get a presidential recommendation and Congressional approval and become a Supreme Court justice. There are no qualifications, after all. So see, there are many paths, but only one destination. (Oh damn, Confucius say whaaaaat?) I visited USC yesterday and now am excessively depressed because I am not in the one percent and can't even afford to use their bathroom without taking out 300 years of student loans. It's like... perfection, man! It's so beautiful, and the classes are so wonderful, and there are so many libraries, and I could have a music minor (or any minor, really) to go with my linguistics major, and there are millions of beautiful people there, and they take the common app, and it's all so enchantingly lovely that I have used polysyndeton, which is a rhetorical device that ranks rather near dramatic irony in my affections. Oh me, oh my soul! I feel like pouring out a veritable paean of praise for the virtues of the school! But what would be the use? I can't get in because I have gotten a 29 on the ACT and a 2160 on the SAT and even if by some miracle I did get in, I wouldn't be able to go because I am not the daughter of Bill Gates. Oh me, oh my soul! The sun is indeed dark to my eyes. Perhaps I will write a meaningful poem about it and apply to Cal Arts as a creative writing major. They would love that. People think creative writers are the shit, when in reality, they are literally the crap (if you appreciate my delightfully subtle nuance). Using vernacular to make a POINT bitches. Whaaat? Now I must go and work on some essays and applications and whatnot. I have written one on Pokemon (an essay, that is), comparing myself to the useless Magikarp, and everyone has read it and declared it to be eminently suitable, so I must write more of its ilk (only about serious things). So off I go to engage in more fruitless endeavors. Fare thee well and have a lovely Thanksgiving break as I am sure to be having!

The worst of times.

Today was the very worst day of my life. Or close enough, anyway. We can apply the squeeze theorem, being that it was in the neighborhood of c (C being crap). What am I even talking about? Anyway. Here is my list of reasons why my life is terrible. 1. I had about three hours of sleep (though this is far from being unusual for me). 2. I think I failed my calculus test, and it wasn't even my fault. There was stuff on there she'd never taught, and there were so many problems that I didn't finish. It made me so mad that I wanted to punch someone's lights out with a lightsaber (and I don't even know how lightsabers work). (Like, are they lasers? Or beams of light? Perhaps illuminated swords? And why are people so into them anyway?) Oh, yes. So. 3. I think I did my quarter report on Andokides painter wrong for Art History, and I may get a zero now. And I had a 91 in the class. 4. I had my unit 3 test for gov today, and I didn't study at all. I sort of looked at the chapter on interests groups last night, though. So I probably failed that. 5. I feel so incredibly shitty. My dear friend Tom is visiting, and with him have come all the symptoms of a premature death. I almost passed out in gov. Very embarrassing. 6. I stepped in peanut butter that some wonderful environmentalist had left lying about on the sidewalk, and it got all over my shoe. Speaking of which! 7. Someone's done something with all my shoes! I can only find two pairs! It makes outfit coordination really hard. 8. I had to talk to ASS for a REALLY long time. The ass. 9. I tried to study physics at lunch, and people kept talking to me. What cheek! 10. I tried to get letters of recommendation, but I couldn't because I was too late. (I did get two, though.) 11. I wanted to study in choir, but we sang the entire time, so I couldn't. 12. I think I failed my physics test. Just cause. 13. I bought my homecoming ticket, and Sonia's parents may not be able to take us all (Ivy, Annabelle, Lisa, Sonia, me, and Allie). And it was 60 dollars. 14. I had to go to a college presentation at school for two hours, and they said absolutely nothing I didn't know, and it made me feel completely inadequate about everything and like I will never find a college in a million years. And, the crowning indignity to it all... 15. I look like complete shit today! So. You see. This is why my anger doth not abate. Why is it illegal to go around mugging people? I should very much like for other people besides me to know the hardship I have gone through. Maybe I will obtain a soapbox, set myself up on the corner of Barton and University, and tell them all about it. That sounds like a plan. SEXY SHIT. I FEEL SO HORRIBLE.

My grand dream

Eff everything. I have to write my college essays, and I have no idea what to write them on. I started one on how I have a "blending" voice and how that helps me relate to the world around me because I can empathize with people and all that, but I don't think it's turning out well. It's terribly self-congratulatory. Although isn't that the point of college essays? I don't know... Oh, right! I've finally found my major! I want to major in linguistics. Holy crap, that sounds stupid. It's so embarrassing too, since Zac is a math major (double major, actually, math and music), and Kitty intends to be a neuroscientist, and Sungmin has announced his ambition to be a scientist. Mom is a toxicologist who is good at everything, and Dad is a geneticist with a highfalutin pHD. Even my grandmother used to be a nurse, and my grandfather was a chemist (on my mom's side; on my dad's side, I think they were potato farmers or something). And then there's me... Herp derp, I like words. Damn, bitch. I must be a changeling or something. The worst part is, I actually LIKE science. I do. I'm just not really good at it. The only thing I'm good at it is English, which is incredibly useless. Do we have a Periodic Table of the Elements of Style? Are we composed of parts of speech? I don't think so! The only thing worse would be if I were into history or something. Oh wait... Damn. Well, nothing I can do about it now. It's part of my grand plan for life. Have I intimated my grand plan here? No, I haven't. That wasn't even a rhetorical question. That was just an intro. So, I'm going to get a degree in linguistics (at USC or UCLA if possible, but most likely not), then I'm going to put myself through law school. I might have to become a stripper to do it, but that's ok, because I'll presumably still be hot. After I pass the bar exam, I'm going to become an immigration lawyer and get rid of that horrendous law in Arizona. After that, I'll become a frickin Clarence Darrow and become really rich and famous and maybe become a Supreme Court justice when I've become too old to live. All throughout this, I'm going to eschew traditionality (which is apparently not a word). I will never marry, and I will never have children. I guess I might date and stuff, cuz it'll be really boring if I don't get to ever see men, but I will never own a suburbian house with a picket fence and 2.5 children and an SUV in the driveway. Nope. I'm going to have a little apartment and the cheapest of Honda Civics until I make enough money to buy a house. Then I'll buy a little cheapo house and never spend more than I possibly have to (this is where the dating might come in handy). I will live frugally all my life and become really really rich and not get robbed because everyone will think I'm destitute, and then when I'm a Supreme Court justice (or whatever it is I decide to do in my twilight years), I will live like a one percenter. So perfect. I've decided it all. The only thing I sort of regret is that I won't get to see what my kids would look like. That's kind of sad. But there are internet sites for that, and as far as I know, there are no internet sites for living out your dreams, so it's a small sacrifice to make. Of course, all this depends on actually going to college. So I guess I better get back to those essays. Ugh.

Wtf.

I think this is the worst motivational poster ever. http://www.google.com/imgres?q=macbeth&start=0&hl=en&sa=X&biw=2560&bih=1304&tbm=isch&prmd=imvnsb&tbnid=n3h9LylvrOdm3M:&imgrefurl=http://freepostermaker.com/85xqasdruo/MACBETH&docid=FfD_AdY5Z0pagM&imgurl=http://freepostermaker.com/uploads/saved_posters/free-poster-85xqasdruo-MACBETH.jpg&w=750&h=600&ei=l0_QT_6KEui22gWW5PyxDA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=298&vpy=1000&dur=350&hovh=136&hovw=168&tx=155&ty=199&sig=113651624086067648318&page=1&tbnh=136&tbnw=168&ndsp=140&ved=1t:429,r:124,s:0,i:73 DAMMIT IT DOESN'T SHOW UP. Is ok. It was really bad.

Who am I...

I know you asked me
Who am I
But it’s not that easy
To descry
What is you
And what is me
It all melds so
Harmoniously.
I can’t see myself
And you less so
You fuck up the little
You actually know
I’m not real, am I
To you
I’m an opinion
A bigoted view
I won’t express
I won’t believe
I know it’d be wrong
What you’d perceive
I don’t matter; I’m
Only defined
By the picture you see
Inside your mind
It doesn’t matter who I am
And even less what I can be
Your opinion’s all that really counts
You won’t believe what you don’t see
So, with veracity denied
Who then am I?
You decide.


I wrote that beautiful poem. It's beautiful. It describes me.
But I can't use it for English.
And it's not at all like Theme for English B by Langston Hughes.
So eff.

Happy new year!

I reiterate, happy. new year.
Andddd, that is all.

Brattiness.

Tis break. Winter break, in fact. What joy is mine!
That's part of one of our choir songs. "What joy is mine today, since I have fallen for you!" Cute, right? Except it's in German, so it sounds like guttural whining instead of an impassioned love song, but that is surely all right. After all, our choir conspires to sing it so beautifully. *eyeroll*
My finals, man. Ugh. I can't believe them. For the AP Chem final, no one got an A. Even Miss Smarty-Sweatpants. The highest score was an 80. Fuuuuuuuu.... I was probably the first person in the history of the entire high school to ever get a zero. -.-
My math test wasn't that bad, but it was. You see?
Oui. I make le sense.
Bleh. I'm so tired. I don't want to go to bed, though. I mean, this is all the chance I have to surf the web and perform other important tasks, all of which are too important and fabulous to enumerate here. I have to watch my hentai, and catch up on redbox, and... (what is that site called? Redbox? No. Red listing? Dream of the Red Chamber? Oh dear. I fear I have just demonstrated my ignorance to the world). What tha heck, I'm not a guy.
Today, Allie, Sonia, and I went geocaching. It was a beautiful experience. We caroled people, much to their chagrin, and whistled at attractive college students (we were on a university campus, you see), and ate until we were fit to bust. Allie bought us all stuff. ♥ Then we found caches! I'm not bad, if I do say myself. I figured it allllll out. Found one all by my little self. Woo! I'm so clever, I should be in a hall of fame somewhere in South Korea. Allie got her license, finally, so she drove us around. It was awesome. I felt very collegiate. All I needed was some Ayn Rand and Pabst (and maybe an ironic spray of facial hair or two). Seriously, what is it with college students and wanting to be hipsters? I find it to be a disturbing trend, myself. I mean, really, why is it all of a sudden good to look like an absolute and complete idiot in front of the whole, cold, mocking world? Oh.... I get it. Being so mocked and despised makes them sad. And then they can write whiny poetry about it and stare soulfully off into the ocean. That's always good for a laugh.
Here is a beautiful hipster sonnet on life and meaning that I have composed just for you. I call it "As Dies My Soul Alas."
As dies my soul, alas
My face looks up above
The only thing that keeps me sane
Is your undying love
I love you more than diamond
Than earth or tree or flame
Just like the carbon in the air
Is your beloved name
I smile with a certainty
Of sadness born of hope
That resolution leads the way
To courage
And a rope.
Oh, that's beautiful. I should publish it. It obviously symbolizes the pitiful state of humanity as a whole thanks to the demons of crude industrialization and decries the absence of empathy in human nature. Obviously. The "carbon in the air" is a... metaphor. Of course. What are you, a scientist or something?
Hmm. I wonder if I did the italics right. Computers are quite confusing.
Ooh. I have le hilarious story. Well, ok, more of an anecdote. And it has not yet concluded itself, since I never really bother to check my phone. But, you see, that is a minor stitch in the fabric of life, and we may move forward from that with hope. A sadness born of it, too. Ok. So, there was this guy from Camp (Not So) Hell who was my first love. Wait.... no. I was HIS first love. There we go. So, he fancied himself a creative writer, which was really quite hilarious, considering the sad specimens that he dug up for me to coo and praise, but I suppose we must not judge. After all, he may have meant to use the word "golden" three separate times in one little sonnet to the moon. Even though when I asked him if he was, he sort of stared at me blankly, hung his mouth opened, muttered "Um" a few times, and shook his head. Anyway, he just randomly texted me a long, dark, deep depressing poem about the darkness of his soul. It was a little strange, actually. If I hadn't known that he was trying to become the next T.S Eliot, I would have swiftly called him and tried to talk him off of the ledge that he was no doubt standing on. But as it was, I was sure that he was merely letting his creative juices flow a bit. Being the kind person that I am, I did not suggest to him that the "darkness" that he was talking about actually referred to the deep, cavernous hole inside his head. I asked him perkily, "Did you write that?" I even included the ubiquitous ":D" face. And the little bugger didn't reply until the next day! I mean, how rude. If you're going to send someone a textual novel, you should at least have the decency to wait around until they excoriate you for doing it (not that I did, because I'm nice)! Although maybe he was bathing his hand in ice water. It must be indeed difficult to type all of that. But even so! If he's that depressed, shouldn't he welcome the chance to be able to talk to someone, even an ugly bitch such as I? (was that even grammatical?) You see, I have a point. He is being an attention whore. Or else, maybe he does have deep issues. I'm going to feel terrible about writing this tomorrow morning. Man, I'm a horrible person. Maybe I should read those other two texts he sent me... they might be bidding me and the rest of the world farewell and decreeing his intention to go and jump off a bridge. Oh dear....
What if he does? I'm actually scared. Where the fudgecake is my phone?
Found it. Let's see.... Oh, here's a new one. He didn't of himself. "How are you?" it reads. How innocuous. How jejune. I was hoping for an undying profession of love. Oh well... that would have been awkward to deal with anyhow.
Oh flizzleshit. Shana just called me. Now I have to call her back. I hate calling people. Man! Unless... Maybe she called before I saw her today, in which case I don't have to. Let us check, shall we? Oh. Wait. 10:41 am? We were in class! Were we not? Unless we were taking our choir final, in which case we were off gallivanting around the city taking pictures.... oh, I get it. That must be it. Yeah.
Man, I have a ton of new messages too. Life suuuucks.... Let's see what my one worthy suitor has to say. "Hey :) wanna go on a date?" Oh, no. That wasn't the worthy one; that was the dumbass. Let's check on... er, Bob. Yeah, Bob. (Isn't there a sexy cartoon character or something after which I could call this man?) D'aww, he thinks I'm witty. D'aww.
I just realized something. I sound like Tina. This is terrible. She is SO annoying! And she's the only other soprano who can actually sing, so she and I are constantly thrown together! Plus, we're both short. And she seems to think that I am her best friend in the whole group (which may be true, considering everyone else's strange antipathy towards her). Anyway. She is not that bad, I suppose, at least when she's singing or keeping her mouth shut. No, I take that back. When she's not talking, she's either picking her nose, biting her nails, or shoving her fingers down her throat, hacking and gagging, bringing her fingers back up covered in something, and wiping it on her pants. It's DISGUSTING. I can't look at her, or I'll start feeling nauseated. But it's pretty hard, because she's so effing loud... man, she's like a fire truck or something! Got a set of pipes, she does. I guess she can't help the way she is. I mean, Speech and Debate will do that to a person. And Anime Club... well, let us not speak of that. Suffice to say that she often comes to school in full cosplay outfit, thinking of no ramifications or dress code policies at all. (Does that suffice to say in the least bit?)
Ho hum. I'm being mean again. I need a good, hard, smack upside the head.
I want to hang out with KiKi. I haven't seen her in a long time. Nor anyone, but especially her. Hmm.
Ooh. I also need to invite Sonia and Allie to New Years. Especially Sonia. I wish I could take her up to San Francisco with me for Christmas too...
Okeydokey. Man. I have no friends.
I need to go to bed. It's two in the morning. I'm too tired, though. And, irrational though it may seem, I have a deep fear that CIA agents will be waiting for me as I go up to my room to ambush me and sell me into wage slavery or make me the assistant bureaucrat to the Secretary of State or whatever it is that malevolent CIA agents do.
I'm so childish.
Ok, I seriously need to go to sleep. What am I even doing up? Obviously, I am typing on this blog. But besides that... ugh, when I start to make outstandingly precocious pieces of rhetoric like the one I have just evinced, it proves that I'm too dumb to spend another waking moment awake. I need to go to sleep. I just don't want to...
Dem CIA agents, man. What am I going to do? This is a problem. Maybe I should have thought this through.
Oh well. I guess I'll watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic The Manly Show with Bob Jackson and Buffalo Tuffhide and gather up my valiance to face the dark and frightening aspects of my bathroom.
In the event of my kidnapping by CIA agents, Kitty is to have my clothes.