"And that gives me my goodies for the day."

All right, so I had some free time on my hands this morning when I didn’t go to math class (really, what’s the point?) and I started thinking about the extreme lack of good looking male specimens at my school. I mean, sure, there are about oh, five (four of which are gay, one is just an asshole) and then one really handsome girl, but, other than that… there isn’t much going on at my high school. The hot male to hot female ratio is completely off.

I realized if I ever wanted to date someone hot, I’d have to become a lesbian.

I don’t think being a lesbian would be so bad. There’d be some conditions of course; I’d have to be drunk or completely drugged the entire length of our liaison, but that might make the entire thing more enjoyable too. And I’d probably be a top; so I’d have control of the relationship for a change. Always a plus. There’d be some other benefits like maybe I’d get to share clothes or supposedly girls kiss better than guys, and she’d always be clean.

My lesbian girlfriend, Kim, and I would watch Ellen in the afternoons when we weren’t being filmed for WeLiveTogether.com having sex with each other for tons and tons and tons of cash. We’d spend that cash at the strip clubs we’d attend giving out tips in ones. The two of us taking turns buying lap dances for each other. She likes the brunettes; I’m partial to the redhead; Cherry.

I imagine I’d also get more guys by becoming a lesbian because, c’mon. What [straight] guy doesn’t want a lesbian?

So, eventually, I’d break up with Kim for some emo kid with bad hair, smelly pits, and a raging hard on.

Awesome.

Quote of the day:
"They eat a lot, they drink a lot, and they have sex a lot. That's about it."
- Mr. Jenke on the poor.

TWO DAYS IN A ROW!

“That’s why this marriage doesn’t work.”

Where ya been? Why you been holdin’ out on me? I’ve been busy, now give mama some sugah, she hasn’t seen you in a while.

School has been incredibly busy lately. I haven’t slept well since probably the last time I blogged (by well I mean more than four hours) and it seems like each week is worse than the last one. I love Mr. Bush, but the work he keeps throwing at me is keeping me from even pretending to have a social life, much less write something, G-d forbid, for myself. I’ve taken up whispering into my Dictaphone like an idiot around 3 AM on weekdays when I get my best ideas. Perhaps one day, I will write them out. I doubt it though, for I believe it twas I who said, “I have no aspiration. Ooo, cookies!”

I had to shoot a mocumentary this week. You’d think it’d be fun, but it wasn’t. It kept me haggard and ugly and up until 4 most nights this week. And yet, people still wanted to duke it out with me. Bitches. Seriously. Don’t mess with me I’ll fuck you up. Yeah, I said it. I’ll fuck you up. You know it too, so why do you try?

Actually, I really don’t care and I doubt that last paragraph made sense since I pulled an all nighter again last night and its rounding the three O’clock hour over here in the annex. I can guarantee that every line I thought was clever right now, won’t be in a week when I’m well rested and read back over this.

I think I had a point before I went off on my ramble?

Oh, right. Mocumentary for Mr. Bush. Didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I wanted more, but with a week to do it (and this was the extension), I did what I could. Chances are, I’ll be the only kid in my hour who turns it in anyway. So yay. That’s a win right there.

Being tight on time, I had to prioritize my classes this week, that means I didn’t really see much of Dr. Jenke. I’m sorry, but if I can be working for forty minutes instead of sitting around trying to figure out how long his hair is when its not in a comb over, then I’ll take advantage of it.

Apparently, Dr. Jenke knows this too.

Friday I called my mother to tell her I wasn’t going to be in seventh hour. Our conversation sounded like this;
Me: Hi, I’m not going to seventh hour. I have too much to do.
Mom: So, are you in newspaper?
Me: Yeah, for the moment.
Mom: We should buy you a futon so you can just sleep there.
Me: Nah, its ok. They have [SEX!] couches.
Mom: I’ll call you out.

But for some odd reason, she called me out for 1:30 PM. She never does that. She calls me out for one usually… so they sent the pass to Jenke’s room where upon, as later told by his aid, he said (imagine this in a male smoker voice) “Take it to her in the newspaper room. That’s where she probably is.”

And that’s where I was.

Sitting with Skylar as we tried to finish the fluffy focus of the month (gotta give a little now in order to be rebellious later), his aid walked in carrying my pass.
“This is for you.” [s]he said holding out the yellow slip.
I looked at her like she was the ghost of Christmas past, “But- I- How- What? Wait. How did he know?”
It shrugged, “He also said to tell you that your absences are piling up.”

So I miss a class every other day. It could be worse. I could tell everyone that I have a girlfriend because my wife is dead when she’s actually just disabled.

Yeah. Really.

Then, walking down the hallway just twenty minutes later on my way to rehearsal, I’m casually turning a corner, when guess who I nearly smack into?

Yeah.

“Oh Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Dr. Jenke, so sorry about that!” I say in what I hope is a very sexy and mysterious way. I want to ask him if his hair is ok.
“Grumble Grumble,” he says in response and marches past me like I wasn’t even there, to a staff bathroom, probably to smoke.

Naturally, I run into him on his way out of the staff bathroom too, nearly ten minutes after the first run in.
“Sorry again!” I say, this time trying to play coy. I bat my lashes and think about touching his shoulder. But I don’t.
Again, he ignores me.

So either he’s deaf or I really am that ugly.


Quote of the day:
“Ugh. Bach it!”
-- Mike White’s way of saying “fuck it”.

"He was wearing a white shirt in mine."

Yeah, this'll be butchered in the paper, so enjoy it now, bitches.


Did you notice something this year at the Super Bowl half time show? Perhaps you noticed a lack of vulgarity, breasts, dancing, and hot guys? Did you notice it was family friendly; something virtually impossible unless you are watching PBS and even that’s risky nowadays.

Obviously, FOX was trying to fix CBS’s blunder last year by bringing in some Paul McCartney. I am not complaining, you cannot go wrong with a former Beatle, but it is funny how at one time The Beatles were seen as scandalous? Parents hated the long haired rascals from Liverpool who were obviously coming overseas just to rape our women and pillage from our colonies.

Times change. This is most obvious when you look back on what used to be banned on television versus the crap we throw on as entertainment today.

If the word breast was even uttered under Ricky Ricardo’s breath and not in reference to a piece of chicken, he would have been off the air faster than you can say “Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi”. The words pregnant, toilet, period, hell, damn, and anything that even resembled a swear word were prohibited and never said on television until the late seventies. Couples, even when married, slept in separate beds and sex was never discussed much less shown.

Can you imagine what would have happened if Janet Jackson’s breast popped out in 1954? Pandemonium! And you would not have even had the option of rewinding it over and over on your TiVo.

Vulgarity is all over now; TV, radio (though the FCC made Stern mad enough that he is now on Sirius, basically the HBO of radio), and the internet especially. Kids are growing up too fast and parents spend most of their time explaining what fellatio is instead of playing Frisbee.

What is the world coming to? Can we ever go back to being pure?

Probably not. Not with websites that stream people’s heads being blown off or the use of drugs and the joys of casual sex. Is there any way to save our culture or at the very least improve it? I doubt it, not when there are shows like Who’s Your Daddy? and (though, God love them) The Simple Life. America’s goin’ down. And we are takin’ the Olsen twins with us.

Quotes of the day:
"For those of you screaming "sex and drugs! Give us more of it!" this is not your day."
-- Jenke before giving us the assignment in Econ (Yes. I went. Today.).

"I'm a promiscuous lamb."
-- Mr. Bach after reading a weird horoscope.

"How many spanks this year?"
-- Mike White's way of asking Mr. Bach how old he is.

Girl one: "I got a 54% [on my psych test]."
Girl two: "I got a 46!"
Girl one (asking me): "What did you get?"
Me: "...a 94."
Girl two: "What? Did you like, study or something?"
-- In psych today.

“I believe in you everyday!”

So, I helped write this show for North Canyon’s Musical Theatre Troup along with my other fellow Writers’ Circle buddies never once thinking I’d actually have to perform it until last Wednesday. Not until one of the girls who just happened to be reading my scene became deathly ill.

During sixth hour that day, after Mr. Bush gave my playwrighting class (all three of us) a new assignment that would never actually be turned in by the boys (Well, Anthony might), he said “Bunny, I need to talk to you privately,”.

Usually, when a teacher says this it means, “I saw what you wrote in the paper and I’m going to get you for it!” so I panicked, and I guess I’m not good at hiding it because Mr. Bush followed up my thought with, “And take off your doom face because it’s not a bad thing… For you at least.”

We sat down in the corner of the giant black box closest to his office,
“Melissa hasn’t been to four rehearsals.” He said sadly, “So I’ll know by tomorrow if you’re going to be replacing her in the scene she’s in.”
I pretended not to be sick after hearing this.
“Oh, um…”

I’d relay the rest of the conversation but my head was in fifty different places after that so I’m not quite sure what he said or what I said. I just started praying that Melissa became well enough to be in the play again.

Yeah, well, she wasn’t. I walked into sixth hour Thursday to this greeting;
“Bunny, you’re in.”

Now, to the normal person this would be awesome and great and… no, because all I could think about is how I wanted to throw up. I was slightly on the petrified side. I didn’t know any of the lines really. Did I own a red shirt? Could I learn the lines in a day?

“I love you guys. Kill the people!”

Thankfully, I had all of the love and support of not only my now fellow cast members, but writers’ circle, my theatre friends and, Mr. Bush and Pam. I learned the dialogue pretty quickly and Rocky was awesome with adjusting to my newbieness. Other big thanks to Amanda, for being there during my breakdowns; Andrew for giving me my cues, J-man for the hugs, Robyn for not being as good as I am, and Rachel for encouragement. I’m not lying when I say this was an unbelievable opportunity and I had so much fun (it’s a good thing I took that yearbook picture now, eh?). I can’t even believe you guys dropped it like it was hot with me before the show too. Seriously, what troopers.

“Hold hands and hum. Do you feel the vibrations between your hands? Feel the energy? Remember that during the show.”

Both shows this weekend ended up fabulous. I only threw up once before a show (Friday) from nerves. Saturday I just jiggled my leg a lot. Everyone did a fantastic job and on the plus side: I didn’t have to learn Melissa’s song (and believe me, none of you wanted to hear me sing anyway). I just improved some extra lines (Also, You, Rocky Face, with the improv. I’m impressed.).

Thank you to everyone who showed up too. There were so many of you! Da-hee and Luk to name a few. Then Sam and Emily- Thank you for the pre-show boost on Friday. You made my night (also, I love your mom). I was so scared and I had so many people supporting me it was amazing.

And Bri! Bri you came! You came! You came! You came! I was so happy!

That was probably the corniest blog ever. Just wait until Graduation, bitches.

After Saturday’s show, I was driving J-man to Denny’s (after show traditional hangout) as he searched for the Gwen Stefani song he liked on my iPod.
“Ooooo I’d know it if I heard it!” he said sadly, going through my Gwen playlist, coming up with “Hollaback Girl” again. “No, this isn’t it,” He said before coming across “What Are You Waiting For”. “Ooooo! Oooo! This is the song! This is the song!” he said right as my car decided to fall apart on Union Hills.

Ok, not fall apart, but make the weirdest noise I’ve ever heard a car make. I pulled over to the side of the road and turned off my car.
“Well, at least we found the song…” J-man said quietly.
Yeah, but now we’re stuck on the side of the road and I’m in heels.
“Do you know anything about cars?” I ask J-man as if there’s a chance in hell.
“…No, do you?”
“No,” I say, feeling like an idiot.
So I call Amanda and beg her to save us. She’s nice enough to oblige. May as well go out in style, eh? She came in her black SUV and whisked us away to Denny’s. I left my car on a private street just a few feet away from where I pulled over. Don’t worry all you forty year old men reading this, I called my parents too. They knew what was going on, but thanks for being so concerned.

After a great night at Denny’s including make out session photos (not mine), a tacky girl, a variation of jungle juice (well, virgin jungle juice if there is such a thing), random phone calls to my poor mother’s cell phone, and syrup shots; my mother came to pick me up. I took her back to my car and we drove home at 15 miles an hour with the emergency lights on. She drove my car, I drove hers (her stereo system is awesome if you wanted to know. She was listening to a Britney mix in her car too. It was amazing).

It was a night to remember.

Quote of the day:
Stefi: I didn't bash!
Stefi: I said Bad Ass!
Stefi: In America, that's a good thing.
Da- Hee: yeah, sure...
-- Me trying to convince Da-Hee that saying bad ass is ok in America.