Now. Back to the focusing on me. Poker. It's addicting. And so math-oriented. And risky. It's a rush, even though it's pretend money. That doesn't keep me from being materialistic, apparently. I've never really known how to play before. There's apparently much more to it than simply crossing your fingers for a pair of something or sliding aces into your hand. Fortunately, since Nick and Holly and I are playing online, I haven't had to develop a poker face. Never before was it necessary for me to have one, since I didn't know what was good to have, and therefore all that ever showed on my face was a sort of bemused complacent expression.
But. Now I will have one. Because I have tasted Winning, and It Was Good. So I will learn how to win. This will involve learning lots of other things. Therefore, I will learn to bluff. And to bet. And to figure probability at lightening speed. And to fold, with honor, when necessary.
Ahh, a new addiction. Also? Good thing I'm too cheap to play this for money, or this could become a huge problem. Poor neglected homework, meet your new competition for my attention... The Quest For Poker Domination (The Musical).
Nick made an offhand comment about the resemblance between my writing and that of Holly and Joan, Holly responded to it on her page, I read it, and we're off. It's rather sickening - or terrifying - how well we all know each other. Currently 18 comments and counting, with no real end in sight. And that's Entirely the work of Holly, Joan, and me. In under 45 minutes.
On the bright side, we're funny again. On the darker side ... what have we STARTED?! And the worst part? Nearly all of the similarities between our posts are Completely unintentional and happened without conversation and without reading what the other had written. Can you say "Hive"? That's a good poppet.
You're wrong. I'm not. I will post pictures, whenever Wal-Mart decides to not be assholish and develop them already. Speaking of Wal-Mart, Melissa and I discovered today that people actually DO say "Kids these days."
Scene: Wal-Mart parking lot. Joy and Melissa, driving Jasyn, see an excellent parking spot and are pulling in when an old woman and a lady (for the record, both were ugly) walk INTO it, from their cars on either side, to hold a conversation, blocking THE ONLY PARKING SPOT WITHIN A 1-MILE RADIUS OF WALMART.Harsh? Maybe. Proof for her generalization? Perhaps. Completely fufilling and satisfying and hilarious? Definitely.Old Woman and Lady: Blah Blah Blah
[Time passes, Jasyn is still stuck out in the middle of the row, committed to the parking spot and blocking all traffic.]
Me: [sweetly, with a smile] Could you guys please talk somewhere else?
Old Woman: NO! We will move when WE WANT TO! [mutters] Kids these days are SO rude.
Me: [to Melissa] RUDE? [Flipping off old lady] Try THAT on for size, Granny!
Melissa: Joy, I Love Youaaaand scene.
Also, it's not a rapefest it's .... no wait, it Is a rapefest. And, boobs are boobs.
And that's really all I have to say about That.
Yes, you read that right. After school we went and picked me out some glasses and she stole my earrings and stuck her tongue out at me and then we played with makeup and right now, we're rocking out in the kitchen to the Freaky Friday soundtrack. Yey for good days.
Also, State Math Competition. I would like to note for the record that my 4th place finish, behind Jing, Jaluk, and Scotty, is rather impressive because I was the second non-asian (and Scotty is in Calc 2), the first girl, and in front of .... well. I won't rub it in, guys. Sorry. I just love it when I can be smart on something other than a standardized test. It actually required applying skills I have learned. Which I apparently have learned. Who knew? AP test, bring it. Also, props to Cantarito, which would Totally school whatever Mexican place we hit up for lunch in a culinary contest, any day. And, the Cantarito illegals speak better English and give you more rice. But that didn't stop us from hanging out for an hour and having loud, crude conversation and making all the people around us wish they'd picked Italian or Wendy's or Chinese or ANYTHING besides Mexican for lunch. Suckers. I love my boys. Even when they're offensive. I think I've just learned to tune it out, and some of it I've learned to find funny. Okay, I love my boys Especially when they're offensive. It's fun being the only girl. The Perfect Pair indeed. (If you know what I mean, and I think that you do...)
So, for the record, Melissa is my best friend for a reason. Do you know how many shades of meaning the word "Joyride" can have? oh yeah. She does. The UT boys do. I do, now. I can't believe I never thought of this before. I'm *still* laughing. Much better than driving a Bentley.
The finishing touch to this wonderful day is a site Steven randomly remembered about three seconds ago. A man in a chicken suit ready to do whatever you ask him too.* No, really. He's just waiting for you to request things like the chicken dance or the macarena. I could have been more creative, but my whole family's chilling in the kitchen so I kept it very G-rated, and it was Still hilarious. I recommend asking him to eat a chicken sandwich, or make a chicken sandwich. I was amused. Or maybe I'm just in a good mood. Which I am.
*Sponsored by Burger King. I'm waiting for Chick-Fil-A's competing Cow
no really, go see it. Kill Bill. Now.
I, not being 17, went to great lengths to see it. First, there was Holly's ticket-buying exploits, when she asked for six tickets and the guy asked for six IDs. Holly of course didn't HAVE six IDs, though everyone except me was perfectly legal and aboveboard. Other people's IDs just don't seem to be something she carries around. ANYWAYS. This does not daunt her. She looks at the guy, probably tosses her hair a little bit, and says, man, it must be really tough on you guys to have to wear those Ella Enchanted t-shirts... Guy says, "Here's your tickets, ma'am." For the record, he was Technically wearing a 13 going on 30 shirt but Ella Enchanted sounded much better, and what was he going to do, argue about it? Right. And then Holly stalled the ticket-taker while I called Chris over and he's my hero for COMPLETELY unobviously sliding into that job and letting me in. So Holly and I didn't have to fall back on plans 1, 2, 3, or Karate, all of which I was perfectly prepared to put into action. In fact, I kinda wanted to bust out some karate. But nothing's perfect.
So there was much amusingness to that movie - despite the fact that Holly refuses to allow talking during Quentin Tarantino movies (and she was the instigator) - but Holly will remember it much better than I and I therefore will leave the bulk of the funny to her (though I already stole her ticket story and I fully expect to be reprimanded later.). I would just like to say that there are consequences for breaking the heart of a murderous bastard, and when Holly (or Shane, because he Totally called that "Anaconda Or Yet Another Snake Movie" preview before anyone else figured it out) says "SNAKE!" just get the hell out of the damn way. Because if you stick around, there will be rattling or constricting or poison. Case in point: So there's a suitcase full of money, right? This made me think of ... more money. This made Holly think, SNAKE! And they opened the suitcase and .....
..... nothing. and we relax.
.... until the guy started digging around in the money and then - hiding between stacks of Ben Franklins, which I think would be a very cool place to be - black mamba. And Holly and I shriek and giggle like schoolgirls.
So, moral of the story, Go Kill Bill. It's fun. He dies. Lots of other people die. There's blood and gore and eyeballs and coffins and more trademark Tarantino style than the movie really knows what to do with (but it's Excellent anyways) and a Chinese man with this Awesome beard and rock salt at point blank range and lumpy margaritas at 10 in the morning and pregnancy tests and assassins and tons of foreshadowing and poisoned fish heads and throwbacks to all kinds of film culture and even a shout-out to the good ol Knoxvegas area (because Tarantino's from K-town) in the form of an Oak Ridge Coffee can. And I bet you think you've heard the whole movie now and there's no use seeing it but you would be Wrong.
Vote here for me - Best Sound Design, Anne Frank, for the 2004 Knoxville Area Theatre Coalition Awards. If you're not familiar with KATC, it's our own little version of the Oscars - except with more politicking, campaigning, and ballot-rigging. I would say that I'm above all that ... except that I'm not. So cast a vote in my direction and it would be much appreciated.
In other news, I'm all better and no longer contagious so you guys can stop treating me like I have the plague - actually, sadly, it was the other way around - I always had to jump in and STOP people from taking my food and, in Grant's case, from fishing ice cubes out of my glass at Cantarito the other day (geeez, look away for two seconds and what do you get? I had to jump in and save him from the Death Virus), and it was getting a little tiring. But now we can all go back to eating everyone else's food like it should be. And I can go back to double-dipping in the salsa bowl.
..... juuuuust kidding.
you hope.
also,
This Is Just To Saywas a poem, and then we talked about Why it was a poem for 53 minutes and were unable to hit upon anything (no imagery, no obvious symbolism and she wouldn't let us infer, no message, no theme, no lesson, no figurative language, nothing pretty), and then asked her what Exactly it was about that that made it poetic and not just a rather flippant insincere apology broken up into little lines and she was unable to say. Completely and totally unable to say. She talked about how it left us wondering about the relationship of the people in the poem and what the background was (I, personally, didn't wonder; maybe I'm just not inquisitive enough for an English class) and we said, OH, so a poem raises a question? and she said no. Okay. So she talks about the metaphor. What metaphor? we say. She is unable to tell us. We are unable to figure it out. Okay, no metaphor. She talks about historical and societal relevancy. We say, can we have an example? She says, well, this one really isn't relevant at all to anything .... So. I have a question. What is it that makes that poem a poem? There is obviously a concept here that I Just Don't Get, because it is IN my big green literature book; a whole collection of English-textbook-editors think it's a poem, and they know more about these things than I. Help me out? I'm not kidding, I'm tired of not understanding what on earth makes all this "poetry" worth my time and effort.
William Carlos Williams
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.
So The Asians (and by Asians I mean Chris and Chuck since Prish is Sri Lankan and therefore a mere Poser Asian and Jing is faaaar too superior and doesn't have time for things like this; he has to sit at home and hone his Being A Damn Genius skills) and I hit Every Single Subway in town (we have THREE. We don't have a Starbucks, or a Marble Slab, or ANY worthwhile clothing or book or cd store, but we can support THREE Subways? gahhhh.) after school today because it is Free Cookie Day. We started at the West End, not actually Buying anything, but just putting on our best puppy faces and/or lurking until someone took pity on us, and made our way back east, leaving cookie bags and crumbs in our wake. 'Twas a lovely, lovely day.
Then Chuck and I headed over to see the newly wisdom-teeth-less Warren (losing Chris to a violin lesson (what does he think he is, some kind of virtuoso?!) in the process), who wandered out of his house looking very puffy and rather lost and confused. The best part was how he was insisting that the drugs weren't affecting him at All, and then he'd get this dazed look on his face, and ask us what we were talking about, or get up for no real reason, or start speaking incoherently, and we'd all just smile knowingly and let him live in his little tough-guy, drugs-can't-hurt-me dream world. Hah. The best part was when he'd just, out of nowhere, say "Man, I was expecting to feel more from these hydros!" and then his gaze would attach itself to a crack in the wall or a flower petal or a bright color or a shiny thing and his eyes would get all big and he'd be thoroughly entertained by Nothing for some time.
Went with Ashley June to get her prom dress fitted. Mother had a fit knowing her darling child was going into Knoxville rush hour traffic. But we lived, and I am in shock after having seen the inside of this alteration shop. No two people were of the same nationality, but the most striking thing was the number of men sewing. Yes, you read that right. Men. Sewing. My brother can't even figure out which end of the needle to thread. My father thinks that when a button falls off a shirt, oh well, it just kinda will gap open ever after. And there were six or seven men, Mexican, Chinese, Lithuanian, hell if I know, not all old men, but men in their twenties! Hunched over sewing machines, altering prom dresses!
Wow. That was so sexy. Kinda like men who can cook, or sing.
Also: Who will become .... The Apprentice? We find out in a live finale tonight! Maybe I'm just stupid, but I can't figure out how the finale will be live when the rest of the show has been filmed for weeks. I guess I'll wait and see. And by "Wait And See," I mean, Kwame must win. He Must.
Bill'll get it. I know. Don't bust my bubble for another hour and a half yet. Shhh!
Best. Day. Ever.
I'll explain after midnight. 'twould be pointless now.
on a related note, i just called joan.
Scene: Me in my computer chair, Mother over my shoulder, Joan and Holly in a noisy room filled with their orbiting admirers.
joansphone: ring. ring. ring. ri--aaaand scene.
joan yelling unintelligibly in background
holly: hello, this is joan's phone
joy: hi holly
sounds of mad fighting in the background
joan: she called ME
holly: she's MY child TOO
continued scuffle, sceaming and hissing sounds
joan: everybody OUT!
holly: (to joan) Fine. (to me) here, talk to your mother.
mother: .... huh?
more pressing news: the Italian Stallion, aka Peterless Pan, has resurfaced!
sd singer01: So, I'm flipping through the chanels on tv last night and I come across a contest at the karaoke cafe, i began to change the chanel when all of the sudden who do i see has won the contest....and i really have nothing more to say about That.
jangel139: ADAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
sd singer01: yes, children, that's right... ADAM W INSTEAD.
jangel139: YES YES YES
jangel139: that is beautiful
sd singer01: mom and i laughed our asses off
jangel139: how did i miss this
jangel139: do they rerun those things ever?
sd singer01: i dont know, i never watch them. it appeared to be a pretty big event in the redneck community so they might.
sd singer01: whats super funny is karaoke cafe is about 5 minutes from my house. he was right out here and i had no idea.
jangel139: you mean he didn't call you?!?!
jangel139: that's too sad.
sd singer01: well, im sure there were plenty of skank-whores flocking around him, you know him being the champion karaoke-ist and all.later
sd singer01: i didnt see him sing. i just witnessed the awarding of... whatever it is he was awarded.
jangel139: the I Am Wasting My Peterless Pan Life Trophy?
sd singer01: AH yes thanks joy, thats the one.still later
sd singer01: yeah, it doesnt get a whole lot better than knowing that the itallion stallion has been around.
... okay, i lied, i have volumes. i'll have an Adam Entry sometime. and it'll be a beauty.
until that comes into existance, entertain yourselves with this.
i seem to be relapsing... i'm dead tired All The Damn Time. and i have headaches 24/7. you know, the kind where you think a rock concert got the wrong directions and has ended up playing inside your skull. yeah. it's been fun. [/whining] the good news? More Excused Absences. ohhh yeahhhh. you're jealous. admit it.
okay... yeah i know.
when writing political satire, no matter how elementary or harmless, always check on the political sympathies of the teacher who will be grading said satirical assignment before putting a large amount of effort into writing it. that would be much appreciated.
sincerely,
your GPA
the note on the end of my assignment that i turned in to ms white tuesday is quite clear about her unwavering support for dubya. fortunately in this case, i'm not politically adept enough to make this little story extremely cutting or expose the ridiculousness of our great and powerful leader .... with as much subtlety as i'd like. si vous parlez francais, vous pouvez lire mon histoire right here. (and if enough people ask me nicely, i'll translate it to english. but it's really more impressive in french because less is expected of me when i'm writing in a foreign language.) a prior knowledge of The Little Prince, one of the deepest children's books i have ever read and a book that you should immediately add to your repertoire if you have not already, would be helpful.
when one goes to google advanced image search, types in "left arrow," specifies small images only, and clicks Search, one gets this.
click it. inspect it closely.
this morning prishy and cushy were conspiratorially and covertly planning their april fools hijinks. the plan, as i heard it, was to move chris rigell's car and block it in. i say, eh i'm not doing anything so far, count me in. they say great, the more the better. so in my mind, the plan is thus: we jack chris's car keys, park it sideways in the slanted spots, and then trap it in on either end. amusing, yet uneventful. fortunately, that's not at all how things turned out.
in calculus, i ask cush how we're moving chris's car. does he have the key? i ask. he says, we'll pick it up. i notice nothing strange about this, somehow. people should be more specific about their pronoun antecedents.
at lunch, we're planning our usual salsa-fest at cantarito (Oh Mexican Goodness, How I Missed You), but we have to wait until "everyone comes" so we can move the car. why, you may ask, do we need "everyone" (there were already 10-ish people loitering about) to move the car? i figured it'd take someone to drive chris's car, two people to block it in, and a couple more to stand and laugh and point. and then prish says "so, 2000 pounds, i figure 12 of us can pick it up..."
oh yes. our brilliant plan is to pick up a 4-door honda civic and move it somewhere else. note that all of the people involved in this plan are in the top 15 of the class. this is the point at which i begin to think that chris's car looks just excellent exactly where it is.
and then a veritable flood of nerdy boys, my favorite, come rushing to our aid and suddenly we *do* have enough people to lift the car. the plan morphs into trapping both chris's and chuck's doors shut (great day to have a bio lab during lunch, boys) by moving their cars together and then parking rick's van within six inches of chuck's driver's side. so we'll be moving chuck's car a couple of feet. thankfully, we logicked out a rational way to work it and all the asians and white boy asians were surprisingly strong. i hope we didn't bend your bumper, chuck my man .... we tried not to, i swear.
so we get the car in place and park rick's van and the crowd dissipates and leaves 6 of us who want cantarito, and only cushy's willing to drive. undaunted, we throw three boys in the back and i sit shotgun on prish's lap (that was just a sharpie, right?). cush's car is a two door honda civic. aaaand we're good to go, except for the (owwwwch) speed bumps.
on our slightly tardy return, we see that chuck has managed to extricate his car (we later learned he climbed in a window). again undaunted, cush continues to block chris's entry into his car by parking in chuck's old spot. the only problem is, there are six people in the car who now cannot get out. here, let me say a thank-you prayer for whoever invented the sunroof. we indeed made good on our escape by almost caving in the roof of cush's car. and i was wearing a skirt. it was comical to watch us, one by one, popping out the top of the car, and then cush shut the top and came sliding out the trunk and his poor beaten car's shocks returned to their normal springy-ness. and then we watched chris's consternation and annoyance as he realized what we'd done and were all blatently late to our fifth period classes. good times, good times.
in other news, i have become that which i never wanted to be - the child who dooms their sibling to a lecture by running to mommy with a perfect report card. how was i supposed to know that steven didn't already give his to her!?! i just mentioned it in passing, didn't even pull it out, and she stomped down the hall to dig out my brother's. oops. i generally try to be on his side, too.
also, apparently, if you wait until three weeks before prom to make dinner reservations .... you can't. who knew? betty's, anyone?
