Making Constant Mistakes is your Forte.

I have this tendency to mess up…a lot. I think that if you’re an avid reader of my little blog here, you may have gotten that idea already. But then again, you may think just like me, and you may not see the error of my ways until it’s far too late to go back and try to fix anything. Well, in my town it’s too late. Because there are just those few people who will not let things go, nor will they ever actually forgive you in any way. Shouldn’t have said that. No more questions. DON’T ASK ANY MORE QUESTIONS!

It’s okay, though, because I have time on my side. Meaning that I will get out of this town, and though my record will follow me, the places I’m going will generally be more accepting of my bad choices. Because that’s the way things are. In small towns, things get around and you get in a lot more trouble because everyone knows and they want to bring you down (jealousy issues and all that jazz. I have a lot going for me, doncha know?). In big cities, the shit I do will look like a fly on the back of an elephant doing a handstand. Insignificant in comparison.

I think my biggest problem is that when bad things are happen, I make choices that elevate the situation rather than calm it down. Because when I’m upset and angry, I make more bad decisions, and then when they get around, I’m in more trouble. WHAT. AN. IDIOT. Exhibit A.

I recently got a large piercing kit in the mail so that I could do my own body piercings. I also researched how to do these body piercings, what to avoid, etc. etc. What I forgot to research were the laws regarding piercing the bodies of other people, and I swiftly and surely hit myself down by making that fatal error. As in, Telea, honestly, how could you be so stuuppid? NICHOLAS FLAMMEL!  I pierced some belly buttons, I did, and on school grounds, no less. I’m an idiot (I need to sort out my priorities) and this is the kind of thing I should really think about. But then again, I was upset, and when people are upset, they make the least rational decisions they can, because fuck common sense or regards to the future.

I’m not exactly the smartest tool in the shed right now. Me? Books and cleverness. There are more important things: friendship and bravery. And Harry, just be careful. (Oh, that was too obvious, my name isn’t Harry).

Now, I am being watched like a naughty puppy. Just kidding, people are cute with naughty puppies. Let’s compare the way I’m being treated to that of a recently rejailed former convict. Every step I take is monitored. Every second in the building has to be accounted for. Hell, I can’t even go to the bathroom without being accompanied by a teacher. Do you have any idea how awkward it is to know your teacher is listening to you pee? It’s pretty bad, I’ll tell you what.

I will be eating my lunch (oh, that oh-so-delicious jail food) in the office. I will have my study hall (my one hour of freedom, go figure) in solitary confinement. I will be escorted to every class all the time, and I will not be allowed to leave class under fear that I will have somehow acquired more needles and will shoot them like darts from my ‘poisonous whore mouth’ at the throats of innocent (HAH) passerbys. It’s generally a good time. You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant! …but scary. So, in order to get through these rough times (that I did, admittedly, bring upon myself), I repeat this mantra.

Eleven more days. Just eleven more days. Eleven fucking days. Eleven days.

This is directly correlated to the number of weekdays that remain in my Junior year of High School. Two weeks isn’t so bad. I can survive, I’m obviously a fighter. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

On a side note, I pierced my lip last night (too chicken to do my nose, but then spend twenty minutes ramming a needle through my lip and then trying to get the stud through), and today it is a wee bit swollen. The solution? Lots of dark red lipstick. Trust me.

Now, if you don’t mind, I’m heading off, before either of me come up with another clever idea to get me killed…or worse, expelled.

On that note, I leave you.

Love ya

LET’S GO TO VALLEY FUCK YOU!

Oh man, it seems like the end of the school year is the time that I am most seething with rage and frustration over absolutely everything. Oh dear, I have this immoral want to just punch everyone I know in the face as hard as I physically can, and then laugh and walk away. Smells like teen spirit hardcore in here, doesn’t it? Oh gee, if I could just pack up a backpack, scream ten hail Mary’s to the sky and then take off, I would. I don’t know why I would scream any Hail Mary’s, but it felt appropriate.

My dear friends, have you ever experienced a small injustice that just felt so harsh and terrible because all your other shit is caving in around you already? That’s how I felt when my mother stole my plans, gave them to a group of my close friends (exchange students), and then told me I couldn’t go with to Valley Fair. Well, ahem, that’s super cool of you. I love that, just so much. Especially considering I told you, Mother, that I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to go to school today anyway. <— Pertaining to other shit caving in around me.

Let’s start a new topic, a better topic, a topic not filled with rage and frustration, and instead filled with rainbows, butterflies, the satisfaction of finally taking  a poop, the sweet relief of the moment when you can empty your bladder, the refreshing fizz of a Shasta Twist as you open it, the humble beauty of midnight, and BEAUTIFUL VIDEO GAME HYBRIDS.

My new mission. My new life…this is it. This is the moment for me to shine. I have, in my head, designed a video game console so daring, so efficient, so beautiful, that it will literally make love to your mind when you use it. What is it?

THE SEGBOX 3! This hybrid, a cross between a Sega, an X-box, and a PS3, comes with a built-in drinking game, a Nutella maker, a smoothie machine, a mini-fridge, a full-sized functional rocket ship, and a stretchy real-life miniature elf whose only job is to clean up the mess you made…because fuck brooms.

You may be thinking…I can’t plug this into a power outlet! It will short the system, and then what am I supposed to do?

Have no fear, my dear compatriots, this device, manufactured in China by Nazi’s and managed by Satan, is powered by GOD.

“Wait…okay, what the fuck? No, really Telea, what the Iron Man are you talking about it?”

Well, the way I see it, if God wants to be helpful, he’ll let us cut him up into powerful little bits that will be inserted into the mainframe of this powerful gaming device. Imagine that. Self-sustained energy-source, too. By buying this product, you are saving the world, one mountain-top at a time…as long as you get yourself a solar-powered TV.

The cost for this beautiful device will be 12845niner9889865polarbear97icecreamsundae9834753immortallife9645yoursoul.

Prototype not yet available.

Love ya!

Brainboxes and Telea’s Dramatic Ramblings

Okay, so obviously, it hasn’t been the best of days, but we are here, and we are blogging, and I have no idea who ‘we’ is, but the general idea is: THREE DAYS IN A ROW?!

Telea seems to be back, but don’t get your hopes up too far. We’re going into summer, guys, and I don’t know how much I’ll be able to blog if I don’t have as much internet access. The plan for summer is to camp out at Auntie Isaac’s house in the cities all summer. As in, in his back yard. As in, a hella good time, all the time. Wait, that sounded vaguely sexual…and it wasn’t.

However, my solid promise to you is that I will try as hard as possible, even if it means I have to blog on my tablet at internet cafes once in a while.

Moving on, the topic of the day is people who ruin everything. Because, there do happen to be people out there, and they need to be pointed out, because because because…

I want to just punch them really hard in the wrong. What is punching someone in the wrong?

Scientists (or Telea) believe that there is a part of your brain (not anywhere near the right lobe, obviously) where all of your wrong or bad decisions that affect other people badly take place. It’s this special little box of black noise that is filled with voodoo, fake chocolate, the smell of death, termites, and sadness. This little place in your brain is the home of every resentful feeling you have ever had, of every pain you have ever suffered, and every revenge you wish to seek.

It’s called…let me get back to you on that. I haven’t thought of an appropriate name to describe how bad this area can be.

Let me explain the problem with this box. Sometimes, boxes have holes, or weak areas, where all of this nonsense can slowly (or quickly) slip out into the atmosphere and affect other people. Everyoneffers from this once in a while, but some people just leave the top of the box open to let all of these bad feelings slip out.

This is the way many people I know have been acting. Their brain-spunk has been sexually suggesting a parle between itself and me. Their funkysauce is trying to get onto my burger. Their sdgdsgsdg is fsdfsd my sdfsdfsd, is basically the issue. Understand?

I understand completely, and I do not like it. I would like to take a hot shower in the waters of ‘go the fuck away, no one wants your drama’. I want to dive into the fountain of ‘everything is okay’, and I would like to take a dump in the toilet of ‘leave your issues here, and you’ll be chill’. Sadly, though, much like the fountain of youth, unicorns, and free will, none of these exist in the slightest.

I will have to settle for a long nap under my covers of ‘you can’t find me, I’m invisible’, and move on.

((Brainbox remains un-named. Please help))

Love ya!

Starships were made to…float in the cold, black, abyss.

I have been to space. In a rocketship. Just kittens, but I have had dreams of going to space in a rocket ship on many a fine night, including last night, when my dreams were a mixture of the Avengers, the third Transformers movie, and the song by Nicki Minaj. Messed up as fuck, is what I’m trying to tell you right now. What I have a problem with is these lyrics right here…

Starships were made to fly, hands up and touch the sky.

Okay, moral issues, anyone? No one at all? It’s really just me? Let me explain all of my problems with these simple eleven words.

Starships. Really? No, really? I don’t know if she’s trying to be original or if she just didn’t go to school for as long as she should have. It’s a spaceship. It’s a rocketship. It is not, ever, not in one hundred years, a fucking starship. Do you know why?You’re not traveling to the fucking stars.When has there been a space expedition to go land on/research stars? The only one that seems to be of any interest to NASA is the sun, and that is not a star, it’s a Super Nova.

Made to fly. No, no, Nicki, ‘Starships’ were meant to take off from the ground at impossible speeds, fueled by a special kind of gas made specifically for rockets, break through many layers of the atmosphere, and then take up a status of constantly falling through space. That’s what happens. In space, you’re always falling. What’s pretty much the opposite of falling? Flying, maybe?

Hands up and touch the sky. This is just very technical right now, and I could nitpick a thousand other songs for this, but, uhmm, I think it’s pretty physically impossible to touch the sky, on many grounds. Such as, your arms aren’t long enough. And..the sky is an abstract noun, like freedom. You can’t touch it, literally. It is not something you can feel with yourself. In fact, if we’re getting super, super, deep…there’s a possibility that the skydoesn’t exist.You know, because someone is dreaming us. But I digress.

Now, before you start hating, I do have something to say to you.

Whenever I go clubbing, and this song comes on, I am just like every other sucker in the room. I dance my ass off, cheer loudly, sing the lyrics at the top of my lungs, and when they tell me to put my hands up, well, fuck, I can’t be the only person in the room with their hands down, now, can I? Those motherfucking hands have a life of their own.

But I digress.

Haha, anywho, that’s it for the day.

Love ya!

The Long Weekend (And Other Long Items)

Look, I’m posting. It’s crazy, because it’s been forever, and I don’t even know if I remember how to blog anymore. I know my blog has been lacking in appeal, because when you come here every day, and you look for new material, there isn’t any. None at all. Nada. Get it?

Of course you do! It’s been too long, dear readers, and your inboxes have probably felt incredibly-edibly empty without me. Or not. There are a couple of people around that probably have simply forgotten to click the unsubscribe button. There may be a few of you who have died, or moved, or stopped blogging. And then again, you could have simply given up on me as a valuable blogger.

So, I put my real fanbase at around 6 people, most of whom I know personally. It’s okay, this is for me…or something.

On to real topics, such as how fucking damn ‘Oh my Holy Avengers’ tired I am. And how much I love the Avengers. And Avengers. Avengers. Avengers.

Right. So, I forgot to inform you guys of the cute little fact that I went and saw the Avengers a couple of weeks ago, and that my entire life was changed by it. I dream in Avengers. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of them or make a reference to them. I almost cried when we passed a comic book store that had a huge Avengers poster in the window. You have no idea how badly I want an Avengers bedspread. Or a coffee mug. Or Avengers Condoms. Wait…what? That is absolutely, without an doubt…

THE BEST FUCKING IDEA EVER!

Moving on. I had an amazing weekend. Let’s do the recap in as few words as possible, making you scream for more.

Friday. In school Suspension. Freedom. Napping. Redye hair. Nightstorm. Dancing. Grinding. Kissing. Sitting. Sleeping. Saturday. Tanning. Mowing the lawn…A lot. Hanging laundry. Carolin. Tristan. Jared. Horse barn. Talking. Oatmeal cream pies. Kissing. Sparks flying. Sunday. Early morning. Exchange students. Shower. ROADTRIP! Naked in Walmart. <– The beverage. MAY DAY! Kilat. Jonas. Gareth. Cole. Sage. Purple. Forrest. The Cadiz Brothers. Condoms. Auntie Isaac. Sexual tension? What? Loren. Sunburn. Clara. Alleyways. Alice. Kissing. Roadtrip (with a sadface next to it). Chipotle. HOLY GIGANTIC BURRITO. Home. Bed.

Wait, so Telea kissed someone all three days of her weekend? And it was great?! Yes. Yes, that is the truth.

On Friday, it was a stranger. At Nightstorm, I did a cartwheel into the splits, and my sunglasses came off. A cute guy walked up to me, picked the sunglasses up, put them back on my head, then said:

“That was sexy.”

And kissed me. Ohhh myy, it was heart-stopping.

On Saturday…well, it was cute.

And on Sunday…I think I kissed…five people. Two of them being gorgeous women. Hem Hem. Handbasket <3

Annnddd, I’m all out of material. Tomorrow, I shall be back with a fiery blogging vengeance!

Love ya!

EFFECTIVE (Sadly) IMMEDIATELY!!!

Hola, my fellows who read this terrible blog that I forget to update! Okay, I have some bad news for you guys who truly love me and yadda yadda yadda. I will be posting about 50 percent (or more) less often for this next while. I can’t say how long, and I can’t guarantee that I will ever come back as a completely reliable blogger. This isn’t by my choice, in fact, it makes me ridiculously sad, and I will try to post as often as possible. So don’t be all like: “Oh, she was lying.” , If I end up posting five times next week or something like that. I’m not lying, I’m just not sure how much time I will have for all of your lovelies.

A lot of bad stuff has been happening in my life. The kind of bad stuff I would find exceedingly difficult to write about in any sort of humorous fashion, so you will either hear about it later when I have a better sense of humor, or you will not hear it at all. I’m going to say I take a lot of the blame for the things that have been going down, but, then again, I know that people just blow things way out of proportion, and that I’m not in the wrong as much as people assume I am. That’s human nature, and I just have to deal with it for the entire rest of my life.

Some good updates about my life are as follows.

I have officially begun making total bank off of selling piercings. As in, someone needs a belly ring replacement? I’ll sell you one for two dollars instead of ten. Why? Because I bought a whole ton of them online in bulk, and I want you to have the best deal possible (a.k.a, I bought 100 lip rings for 5 dollars, and now, you just more than paid for all of them by buying three of them.). It’s efficient, it’s legal, it’s reliable, and it’s a guarantee. Any piercing that I have, I will sell. Brand new. For two dollars.

Don’t be all like

 “Oh, I’m gonna buy from her!”

 though, because, if you want them, you have to pay shipping, too (ehh, prolly still a better deal anyway).

Mooooocowing on. I am currently sitting in an in-school suspension, typing all of this out on Microsoft Office Word, because I’ll get in more trouble if they find me updating my blog. Shhh, don’t tell.

The topic of the day is…

FIVE THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER EVER DO AT A PUBLIC SCHOOL!!! (Disclaimer: I did not do any (or at least, all) of these).

1. Write a short story for English that is very heavily based on how much you hate a teacher, with direct references to their jobs, lives, families, etc.
2. Openly admit to a teacher that you do not like them at all. Though one out of a thousand times they will appreciate your honesty, most of the time, they will take a disliking to you, your moral values, your job, your live, and your family.
3. Expose any part of your body in any way, other than everything between your knees and your ankles, your neck and your scalp, and your elbows and fingertips. So, basically, DO dress like a nun. Do NOT dress like a normal human being who has a job, life, or a family.
4. Sing loudly in the hallways. Or do anything loudly in the hallways. Just generally stay very quiet in the hallways. Don’t touch other people in the hallways. Don’t skip, jump, teeter, trip, wiggle, smile, project, protect, or infect in the hallways. Don’t laugh, cry, eat, die, kill, fly in the hallways. Also, don’t be Dr. Seuss in the hallways, it doesn’t work out for you or anyone else or their jobs, lives, or families.
5. Do not, and I repeat DO NOT (!!!!!) EVER (!!!!!!) NEVER (!!!!!!) act like me in/on/under  your hallways, classrooms, buses, homes, cars, rooms, closets, beds, desks, chairs, tables, computers, lawns, fields, dams, rivers, estuaries, continents, polar ice caps, satellites, ninja base camps, area 51, Liverpool, The Eiffel tower, creeks, streams, bushes, oceans, or any land mass here or in any galaxy far far away. It may have immediate and ridiculous effects on you, your job, your life, and your family.

 

Love Ya!

You did what to your…excuse me?!

This last weekend was pretty damn fun. Aside from the self-inflicted pain of something I can’t describe (but I can say ‘don’t do this at home’), it was almost perfect. Here’s how shit went down.

On Friday, I had to sit and play uno with super scary super old people. I don’t know if I’ve filled  you in or not, but I have this fear of old people. Not all old people, of course, I’ll still help the little old lady cross the street and all that fandango, but the fact is, if you can’t take care of yourself and/or you’re in a nursing home because of it, you kind of scare me. I have this fear of not being able to live for myself, which is where this fear of old people comes from.

Then, I went on an adventure with Kresha. I’m all about adventures. So, we get in the car with this woman I’ve never met, but who is apparently related to Kresha. And OH MY GOD, she was such a cool cat. We talked about everything from drugs to losing your virginity. She also fell in love with my voice, and wants to hire me as a DJ, for 200 a night. That’s crazy, guys. Just so crazy. We ended up spending the night at Kresha’s Grandma’s house, and there was this ridiculously good-looking man there, and this man was flirting with me death-metalcore (That’s emo-extremo-screamo hardcore), and then I found out this guy was…

13 years old.  Fuck.

Moving right along. Saturday brought running barefoot through pastures green, shooting sparrows (not me), and going back to my place. It was generally a great time. We then retreated to Carolin’s for another party, and then again retreated to my humble abode for some quality time with everyone. Meaning we all slept in the horse barn, and it was hella fun.

Sunnndaayyyy! Oh my god. The day I found religion. Here’s you going…wait…what? And here’s me going:

Go watch The Avengers.

I swear, it was so good. My entire life has been changed by that movie. I’m not even talking ‘all three Transformers movies’ good. Like, I’m talking ‘The Avengers blew Transformers out of the water, back into the water, and out of the water again’ good. I thought that kind of sorcery was impossible, but I have now found out…

It’s the Possimpible. Speaking of How I Met Your Mother, congrats to Cobie Smulders for landing a role in The Avengers. I wish I looked that good in a skintight black body suit. I wish I could do kickflips. I wish I was an Avenger. She wasn’t, but I’m just stating facts.

For those of you who don’t know this…the Avengers are real. I shall elaborate on that later.

I am here to state a very obvious fact. I can’t blog worth a shit when I have good weekends. You guys take more amusement out of my pain (because I portray it better) than out of my pleasure. Which is why our topic of the day is…

‘Dares plus nipple piercings.’

…Wait, wait wait……….

What?

Yes. I took a very stupid and very scary dare, and I now have a little piece of metal sticking through my left tit. Though it looks pretty cute and fancy, this is a very strange and undesirable thing. I don’t even know who came up with the idea of piercing their nipples, but the fact of the matter is…

Owwwww. Ow ow ow.

I did it myself, and it turned out very straight, like the irony of being born a heterosexual in a LGBT community. It took me seven minutes to get the needle all the way through, and another six minutes before my life was even a little bit okay. In my defense, I didn’t cry. I held strong and true. In fact, I was laughing.

But Oh My Holy Avengers, owwww.

Okay, obviously my brain porridge was made with a little too many empty words and bad metaphors today, so I’m gonna wrap this up. Don’t blame me, it’s a Monday.

Love ya!

Well, Fuck You Too, Prick!

This is my angry blog. This is my ARRGHHHHH blog post, which doesn’t happen often, because I seem to be in a constant state of not giving a shit. Just kittens, I’m angry a lot. I just don’t show it, because frankly, anger is one of those things I like to take out on my room.

What does that even mean?!

It happens to mean that when I get home, I throw my stuff around and make a big mess, which causes my parents to get very angry, because computer time is only allowed to those with nice, clean rooms.

I shit you not, if my room has even five items of various categories on the ground, I am not allowed to use the computer. To restate, I am never allowed on the family computer. Ever. Like, the last time I was on that beast was back in ‘Nam…or something like that. I am on a rampage right now. I have so much anger, I could fuel half of a French Revolution and three quarters of an English Tea Party.

Today, we are talking about my school, my parental units, my teacher, and my priviledges. Yes, so in a nutshell, you could say I’m failing a class and getting punished for it. So, first, I feel the need to let you guys know that I do accept the responsibility of getting the bad grades…to an extent. But when you have a teacher who half covers a concept and then expects you to understand the entire middle part that they didn’t talk about at all…by the next day…it’s kind of difficult.

I’m not just saying this because I don’t get Algebra at all. I mean, it is a part of it, considering you could compare how well I do in Algebra to how well Wile E. Coyote does at catching Roadrunner. Not well at all. And, this is also comparable to the same thing, as Wile E. Coyote really tries DAMN hard to catch that stupid bird, he really does. But what the problem really is lies in how this teacher chooses to explain things. I’m not the only one in my class struggling, I’m just one of two getting an F…that I know of.

This Failing grade all began when I asked for a one day extension on my notebook. She said no. I said I didn’t have the notebook with me that day. She gave me a zero. How do you pull yourself back from something like that? You just don’t.

I would blame all of this on me if she was a great teacher. It would be like skydiving, she told me how to do it a million times, and I just couldn’t remember how to pull the parachute. No, it’s more like she didn’t tell me that not only was my parachute probably jammed, but also that the thing you’re supposed to pull is broken in half. As in…I cannot pull my fucking parachute cord, and now I’m freefalling to earth…That was an extended and slightly muddled metaphor.

NOW, my parents are in a tizzy because apparently ‘I am too smart to be recieving any grade lower than a B-’. Fucking great. I am now suspended (by the parents) from any after school activities until my grade is up or further notice. That either means 3 weeks or forever and a day.

I shall conclude this blog with a big fuck you to the public education system in this town, which is close-minded, athletics-geared, racist, sexist, and elitist. Thank you, Small Town America…you have ruined my life.

Love ya!

Every Single Thing That You Do!

Baby, I’m amazed by you! Right now, we’re talking about my choir teacher, who does nothing but support me and push me to be better. If you take my mother, make her a music teacher, make her ten times cooler and more understanding and fun-loving, that’s who Mrs. A is.

Every time I have a problem, she is there to help me through it, or at least give me a place to be so I can cool off. She books extra lessons with me because she knows I have talent and I am willing to work for my goals. She inspires me, because she is doing what she loves to do and maintaining a family. It’s crazy all the stuff she does, but even when it seems like she’s about to crack, she still makes time for me or any other student that needs her help.

This Saturday, I have my State Solo Ensemble competition in Eau Claire. I’m going with two pieces (an Italian Alto Solo Opera and ‘Just you Wait’ from My Fair Lady). I am so nervous, but we’ve literally been working our asses off, and I think it’ll pay off when I get to State.

Here’s how State works. You go in a room with one judge and a couple of people watching. You perform your piece, and then the judge has a private chat with you to give you some critiques. You then leave the room, and frantically check the score-boards every 13.45 seconds to see if your name and place rank are listed yet. The best score you can get at State is a 1, and generally people who go to State get 1′s and 2′s. Rarely have I see a 3.

You may ask: Is there a nationals? No, there is not. I wish there was, because if there were, I would totally be going. Yeah, I do happen to be that good.

Okay, this is a very short and non-funny post, because I wasted over half of this class period on a choir lesson. Ahh, who cares? You read me anyway!

Love ya!

They’ve Been So Long on Lonely Street.

So, I am in serious trouble. With my parents. In case you guys assume that this is a new thing, it happens to not be, as I do a lot of stuff that might give your parents heart attacks or at least minor fits of late onset epilepsy. What can I say? I want to live every second like it’s my last and have no regrets at all.

Of course, in every lifetime, we’re going to have regrets, we’re going to make stupid choices, and we’re going to fail. This isn’t some weird pep talk or anything (or maybe it is a little), but the point is, you have to get past the fear of failing before you can accomplish the biggest things. I’m not saying the little stunt I pulled last night could be considered accomplishment in any degree, but…you get the point.

I would like to wish you all a very happy May Day, and I just want to let you beautiful people know that this is not just a celebration of a new month and the coming of spring and all that. Oh no. This is a celebration of an entry to yet another month where Telea has stayed strong and true and continued blogging. It’s been a hard road, and after last weekend, I was having second thoughts about coming back, but come on.

Who would I be without you lovely people who offer so much input to my blog?

That was a stupid question. I’d still be fucking Telea.

Let’s get to the main story line here. Last night, I was incredibly bored, so after planting a few rows of potaters out in the old garden and doing a few pages of the old Algebra homework, I decided to make beautifluffle plans with fantastic people. Well, you wouldn’t consider them fantastic, just me. Just I think they’re cool cats.

So, I go and hit up Harleston, who’s like:

“I’m headed to Kenneth’s.”

So, I hit up Kenneth, and Kenneth talks to Harleston, and Harleston gets in contact with Lindy, and then Lindy proceeds to take forty minutes to text back, at which point we are all piled in Harleston’s car and headed over to Chris’s. So, we’re all chilling like villains, me with the knowledge that I need to be back to my house by ten.

Well, do you think I made it? No, no, no sir, I did not. In fact, I overshot that son of a bench by at least an hour. At 10:30, Harleston turns to me and says:

“Is there a specific time you need to be home by?”

Perfect opportunity to play good child and reply:

“Yeah, I’m already pretty late. Wanna drive me home now?”

Instead of:

“Pshhh, naw. We can go to Lindy’s house if you guys want.”

Boom, we’re in a car, on the way to yet another town, farther away from my house than the last. I call up me mum and I tell her:

“Well, I may be pretty late tonight. So, uhh, don’t wait up anddddd, have fun with your quiet time.”

Of course, this doesn’t go over well at all…so…long story short, I’m midway between Lindy’s house and another town farther away when my father calls back and says we need to be back as soon as possible. Well, that kicks Lindy into gear. Going 97 down the road, we’re barrelling towards the nearest gas station with a fire you haven’t felt in your gut since you last watched Blazing Saddles.

Around corners, I can feel my stomach being wrenched upwards and to the left, so it can chill with its old friend Heart. However, heart isn’t home, considering she feel it necessary to chill out up in my jugular. It’s kinda how my body takes minor panic, slight frustration, and great amounts of amusement. I’m laughing and smiling while everyone else is wondering how hard my dad is going to kill them.

“So, when your dad murders people…is it a long, drawn out process…or does he just cut to the chase?”

I was so busy laughing, I didn’t even know who those words came from, but the moral of the story is…

I’m a stupid fuck, and now I have no phone or non-school internet access. I’m pretty sure I’m also on high alert kid watch. As in, I’m not going anywhere for a loonngggg time. How long? Watch all of the Harry Potter movies consecutively whilst holding your breath, and you’ll know how long.

Love ya!